Brown Eyed Girl
by Nova802
Summary: He's not hung up on Rachel Berry. It's just that they keep having these moments, or near misses, or whatever. Like really, they keep happening.
1. Where did you go?

**A/N: Puckleberry. Is it wrong that I love this couple so much? Naturally, there will be obstacles. **

**The title is from the Van Morrison song.**

*****

He's not hung up on Rachel Berry. It's just that they keep having these moments, or near misses, or whatever. Like really, they _keep_ happening. And the girls he's been with come in two categories: fuck and forget it (pretty much everyone), and fuck and not allowed to forget it for a single second (Quinn). She doesn't fit into either category because clearly she's not carrying his spawn, but equally clearly, she's not all that forgettable. Also he hasn't fucked her, although he's thought about it. Some. Or a lot. Whatever. Sometimes he tells himself it's because he hasn't had her, like if they could finish what they keep starting, he'd be done.

Only a few small problems with that theory. Yeah, it's true that they are hot as hell together (in her bedroom, in his truck, and pretty fucking memorably backstage before Regionals after he'd punched that Vocal Adrenaline dick. But some of the moments, shit, even most of them, do not involve him working his way around the bases.

Like when she sat sat next to him in Glee right after Sectionals, exactly like nothing had happened (she was the first person who had even spoken to him all day). And when she told Finn (Finn!) to step off when Finn was ragging on him about their duet. She must have been the only one in the room who thought Finn gave two shits about whether he was coming in a beat too early or too late or anything but the fact that it was Puck she was singing to, Puck's arms around her. Jealous prick. And of course there's the fact that she had pretty much straight out told Quinn she was being a total bitch for cutting him out completely. (End result: he's running around like Quinn's bitch now--those cravings blow.)

And yeah, so they talk sometimes. Or mostly he listens to her while trying not to pierce his own eardrum with something sharp. (_You keep telling yourself that, buddy. Shut up...fucking internal monologue_.)

The whole thing starts at lunch. After baby-gate (unbelievably stupid name, thanks Hummel) he was damned if he was going to sit in the lunch room and play the role of villain opposite Saint Finn and Quinn/Mary _fucking_ Magdalen.

She finds him on the bleachers the Tuesday after Sectionals--yeah, predictable, so what?--and sits down next to him, takes out her lunch and starts eating. He watches without comment as she dabs her lips neatly with the napkin she packs and mostly ignores her when she talks commonplaces (about Glee, what the hell else do they have to talk about?). She offers him a snack and almost unwillingly, he laughs because shelled edamame? No, no and no.

He's not disappointed at all on Wednesday when she doesn't show up.

But then she's there on Thursday. And she brings Twinkies which he knows she's bought specially. Hey, it's not like it's takes some deep insight into Berry to realize that refined sugars and transfats aren't going to cross her lips.

And fuck. There it is. Tuesdays and Thursdays eating lunch with him. Wednesdays and Fridays with the Gleeks. And Mondays with a glowering Finn. Any triumph he unexpectedly feels over the fact that she's spending two days with him and only one with Finn is shot down completely when he realizes he's lurking outside the cafeteria in order to work out her schedule.

He spends no time (at all) thinking about why he cares.

Because he's an idiot, it takes three weeks of Tuesdays and Thursdays for it to sink in that she's freezing her ass off sitting on the bleachers in December. She eats her lunch, talks cheerfully about nothing, but the goosebumps on the expanse of thigh between the kneesocks and the skirt are a dead giveaway. (He loves those skirts and come on, she's a hot Jew, so of course he's going to look.)

The next morning he finds her at her locker, crowding her a little because he likes it when she looks up at him. He tells her off-handedly that he'll be in the practice room for lunch.

She looks down and says "oh" in a small voice.

He rolls his eyes. Please. If he was trying to get rid of her, he sure as shit wouldn't be choosing her second home to eat in. He just can't believe he actually has to say it.

"You can come too," he tells her, and her quick smile makes him want to laugh or pat her head or kiss her or something stupid like that. "Just don't forget the Twinkies."

It's not a friendship. That's all they do--eat lunch. She'll smile at him in Glee and sit next to him sometimes and she'll nod to him in the hallway if he nods first, but she doesn't try to make him watch musicals or go shopping at whatever granny store she buys her sweaters at or whatever the fuck else she would do with a friend. And he can't exactly picture her in his basement drinking beer and playing Xbox.

Or he can, but only if she's also naked. Which isn't a half bad idea, except she's still, still, _still_ totally panting for Hudson.

He watches her when he doesn't have anything better to do. Quinn looks like she'd like to cut her and Kurt hisses "rebound" at her. And it hits her, it does, just like it does when Artie calls her a diva for like the millionth time or when Schue does another stupid 'teachable moment' at her expense. But she picks herself up and focuses her big brown eyes on Finn like when she finally gets him, he's going to make everything better.

He could tell her something about what happens when you finally get the person you think you want.

The weirdest thing about being not-friends with Rachel Berry? She doesn't pry. Doesn't ignore it exactly, the shit-storm swirling above his head, Quinn's, Finn's, but she's so matter-of-fact about it all, she might as well be. She doesn't lecture him and fucking miracle, she doesn't try to fix everything. She just lets him be. Sort of.

Over time, some stuff happens.

First it's the duet. Some romantic piece of crap about being in love with your best friend and he needs to watch Finn and Rachel sing another love song like he needs a hole in the head. That shit's just overdone in his opinion. But the day after Schue assigns it, Finn's out with a cold, maybe bronchitis; kid hardly ever gets sick, but when he does, he's out for a while, moaning into his tissues.

The day after that she starts with the funny looks which are not, unfortunately, th_e Puck, I want to jump your bones _looks. Instead, tick-tock, Regionals are closing in, and Rachel's **not** losing the duet so next practice she smiles brightly and volunteers him as male lead. Schue frowns and says something about the song being outside his range and Rachel glares like it's her singing being insulted. She's more than capable of coaching Noah to standard thank you very much. And him? See, that thing about her letting him be? Does_ not_ apply to Glee.

Before he knows it, they're meeting three days a week before basketball practice because she's working with him. Which should be as annoying as fuck, right? But she's actually a pretty good teacher. She does the stuff he expects like scales and posture and breathing and all that and don't think he doesn't enjoy making her blush with sly comments about already having worked on their breath control together.

But it's also, s_he's _also, fun. She brings in music--he almost chokes when she calls it "appreciating the seminal works of popular tenors." And then he makes her repeat the word 'seminal' four or five times (Huh Berry? Could you say that again?) until she calls him childish and punches his arm as hard as she can. Once he's stopped laughing, 'popular tenors' turns out to be Robert Plant, and he can tell she's impressed as hell when he does the Zepplin guitar parts, so okay, cool.

And who would have guessed that she could identify Aerosmith, much less mug the lyrics of _'Walk This Way_' back and forth with him.

It's not until she brings in Marvin Gaye that he begins to see the possibilities of the situation.

She's talking a mile a minute as usual. "I've always loved _'What's Going On'_! It works on so many different levels, as an anti-war song, a commentary on the world's problems and of course it marks the transition of the Motown sound from..."

And he's ignoring her, because his mother loves Marvin Gaye; seriously, he knows all the songs. _'What's Going On'_?--good song. But he's thinking something else.

Look, it's not any secret that music gets Rachel going. He's 99% sure that that's Hudson's secret weapon with her--although he doubts the dumbass even knows it. She doesn't give a shit about the quarterback thing and she cheers in all the wrong places whenever Frankenteen is on the basketball court, and speaking objectively, Finn is as dumb as a box of rocks, so it's got to be the music.

Hell, it worked for him. Five minutes after _'Sweet Caroline'_ she had dragged him into the supply closet.

Really, he just wants to make her smile a little, maybe laugh. Shit, he's not serious about it. He scrolls through her collection, pushes play and the watches her face, smirking, 'cause the second she hears the first notes, that guitar instrumentation, she's going to know.

Yep. That look: half-amused, half-suspicious, all Berry.

He takes a step towards her, edging her back ever so slightly, crooning the opening lyrics in an exaggerated manner.

_I've been really tryin', baby  
Tryin' to hold back this feelin' for so long  
And if you feel like I feel, baby  
Then come on, oh, come on_

Her eyes widen and she does smile, rolling her eyes a bit. He slides a hand to her hip and she swats it away, so he tickles her waist instead and now she's laughing. He goes in for the kill, looking her up and down, winking suggestively, but it's all overblown enough so she can _completely_ tell he's kidding.

_Whoo, let's get it on  
Ah, babe, let's get it on  
Let's love, baby  
Let's get it on, sugar  
Let's get it on  
Whoo-ooh-ooh_

And Rachel's still laughing, but _maybe_ a little turned on too, at least her eyes are sparkling and she's breathing a little faster. Which, who is _he_ kidding, is totally awesome and he is _so _the man (_thanks for the assist, Marvin_).

They both jump like they've been shot when the clapping starts. Mr. Schue is behind them, a wide smile lighting up his features.

Fuck. No big thing though.

"Puck, that sounded great! No strain on those high notes and you made the descent smoothly. Great test piece for your range."

_Test piece, Schue_? Shit, no wonder he hasn't sealed the deal with Ms. Pillsbury yet.

"Rachel, I've got to admit, you were absolutely right," Schue continues.

Which also works with Rachel. She preens and then says matter-of-factly, "Noah's natural talent just needed a little polishing."

Yeah, it feels good. Whatever.

"I'm looking forward to seeing the two of you sing together tomorrow in practice. By the way I spoke to Finn today and he'll be back in school so you can get his feedback as well!"

Because Finn's going to be super psyched.

He looks at Rachel and she's got her hands clasped together, looking like someone just gave her a Tony (shut up, she's hard to block out). He's narrowing his eyes, wondering how long it's going to take her to get Finn put back on the duet when she turns to him. "We're going to _kill _on that duet tomorrow!"

Huh. That was unexpected.


	2. Maybe this time

**A/N: Thank you so much for the alerts and favorites and reviews. They are much appreciated! Sadly, I don't own Glee.**

*****

It must be some accident of fate that keeps bringing her together with Noah. Her Daddy likes to say that where fate is concerned, there are no accidents (usually after watching _Casablanca_ with a glass of wine), but Rachel's not buying it. It's simply a series of odd collisions that could happen to any spirited young ingenue confronted with so much leading man potential. His _voice_....that and the _arms_. What does he call them? Guns? What in the world for? But she digresses.

Daddy just doesn't realize how difficult it is to avoid tripping and falling on Noah Puckerman's lips.

*****

After Sectionals, she doesn't understand why she wants to be Noah's friend so much and it worries her at odd times, like in when she's conjugating verbs in Spanish (he sits three rows behind her, to the left), or practicing yoga (she's never been very successful in quieting her inner mind, anyway). Not that she means to suggest that he's not deserving of her friendship. Rather it's a question of _why now._ Because she's pursuing him in a way--and she's not stupid, she knows that any time she spends with Noah outside of Glee has the potential at least for causing friction with Finn.

Admittedly, she's always been, well, _single-minded_ for lack of a better word, about Finn, so it surprises her that she has no intention of letting it stop her.

It's not guilt. She's very clear about that. Yes, she may have been the deus ex machina who unraveled the parentage of Quinn's baby and her actions precipitated the unfortunate events that followed. But his actions, his and Quinn's, set those events in motion in the first place. She's not inclined to pity him and he wouldn't accept her pity if offered.

Maybe it's a sense of kinship. He's alone and she knows what that feels like.

Maybe it's a distraction. For them both?

She _needs_ a distraction. Because it turns out that despite his return to them at Sectionals, she doesn't have Finn, not in any of the ways that really matter to her. She tells herself a million times a day that it's better this way. She certainly doesn't want to be a _rebound._

She's the lead or she's nothing at all.

"Hey, Rachel." Finn's voice sounds out behind her.

Rachel jumps at her locker as she's gathering her materials for Glee. Her stomach swirls in familiar loops. "Hello, Finn," she says.

He smiles at her, or at least in her general direction, backpack slung over his shoulder and he doesn't quite meet her eyes as he asks, "Could you tell Mr. Schue I can't make it to practice this afternoon.? I'm...I guess I'm just not feeling up to it."

Her smile wavers for just a second before she catches herself. "Certainly, I will." She hesitates, wondering if he wants company, but he's already racing on. "I promise I'll be at the next practice for sure. Thanks a million, Rach."

"Of course," she says, and he's already doing that awkward dip and bob thing he does, as if he can't decide whether to hug her or not. He goes with a wave instead.

It's not a little voice in her head reminding her of the social order, it's Kurt. He appears at her side watching Finn retreat down the halls to where a protective throng of Cheerios gathers around him, cooing. He's never been more popular. Kurt's looking at his fingernails, won't meet her eyes, which is a change she supposes. Before he wouldn't have minded saying something this cutting directly to her face. "It hasn't changed anything you know, now that he and Quinn...," he pauses, makes a dismissive gesture. "If he wouldn't be your co-captain, he won't be your boyfriend." She looks at him and tries to figure out if he's being malicious. In a sense, it doesn't matter. It's nothing she hasn't said to herself at 3 AM.

Why is this so painful? Is it supposed to be this painful? Books and musicals and movies would suggest that it is, but she'd like to have a little more first hand knowledge to go on. (Dating Noah was not painful.)

Sitting on the bleachers, or later in the practice room, with Noah she doesn't think about all that. Not about Finn or the tenuous status of her friendships within Glee or even their upcoming showdown with Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals.

It's easy to talk to him--or **at** him, admittedly at first there's far more of the latter than the former. She doesn't feel the need to weigh her words, to avoid treading on eggshells like she does with the Gleeks. And although she cherishes her time with Finn, she has to admit that conversation with him right now is heavy lifting. He's still so hurt and angry and he's always in motion, smiling and pretending it doesn't matter; she doesn't know what to say to that, so she doesn't say anything.

So twice a week she packs a package of twinkies in with her lunch and 'hangs out' with Noah, and eventually, with a fair amount of coaxing, succeeds in getting him to play his guitar. (She's breathless, actually _breathless_ for a moment, when he finally does, remembering the first time he played his guitar for her. It takes her a long time to explain it away.)

For his part, Puck raises an eyebrow and smiles lazily, eyes her skirts and mocks the contents of her lunch.

It's nice to have someone to laugh with. She doesn't have muchexperience in this arena, but she's almost certain that they're friends. Or at least lunch-buddies.

*****

Rachel wants the duet. Actually she wants all the leads, but she's come to recognize that it's better for the team if she shares; even accepts somewhat grudgingly that some songs may be best suited to other voices. But '_Lucky'_? It's perfect for her and she thinks it's a real contender for the Regionals set list.

So she's more than a little put out when Finn gets sick. It's unfair of her because of course it's not on purpose. But deep down she thinks that as male lead he should have known better than to spend all of study hall doing word-finds _or whatever_ with Melinda Farnsworth when she _clearly_ was coughing all over the place.

After two or three days, it becomes clear that Finn isn't returning any time soon. First she sends him get-well-soon cookies (via UPS overnight: Glee can't afford to lose any more members this close to the competition). Then she starts looking speculatively in Noah's direction. She is so not giving up that song.

And while Finn has a beautiful voice and more experience with leading roles, she can't help being intrigued (read: embarrassingly excited) by the thought of singing with Noah.

Obviously, it's important for a up-and-coming star such as herself to be well versed in performing with a variety of partners. Which is exactly what she tells Noah when he storms out of Glee after she 'volunteers' him. And they really must be becoming friends because he seems to see her point after that.

Once they come to an agreement, the extra practices she insists on go more smoothly than she could have imagined.

"Are you fucking insane Berry? After school three times a week? Hell no."

"In that case, perhaps we could arrange to meet Friday after Temple? I could check in with your mother if you like. I'm sure I saw her there last week."

He shows a surprising willingness to accept her assistance.

"Berry, show me that breathing thing one more time."

"Absolutely, Noah! Just place your hand on your diaphragm. No, that's your stomach. Here, give me your hand and we'll just slide it along...perfect!"

They sound amazing together.

"It was...good. But maybe we should run through it one more time. It might be better to hold that last note an extra beat. Or one beat less. Or we could..."

"Berry, just chill out. It's fucking _perfect_ and you know it."

In retrospect, the Marvin Gaye might have been an error (if one can ever call one of the greatest performers of the 20th century an error). She takes her coaching responsibilities with Noah very seriously. She's even created them a color-coded syllabus to work from. That said, it simply isn't becoming for someone in a position of trust (like herself) to be melting into a puddle of music-induced lust on the practice room floor. Thankfully, Mr. Schue arrives before anything...not that anything _would have_ happened. (There's not enough time in the world to explain that one away.)

*****

Finn finds her as she comes out of the girl's room the next morning before homeroom.

Rachel frowns with concern, he's still quite flushed. "Finn, how lovely to see you. Are you feeling all right?"

"Thanks Rach, I'm fine." He grabs her by the elbow and pulls her into an empty classroom. "Look, I just wanted to apologize about getting sick and all."

"No need to apologize, Finn. However, it does illustrate an important point. One's health is..."

He interrupts her. "And Glee. I know you were counting on me," he looks at her appealingly. "I feel terrible about letting you down. Especially with Regionals coming up. And the duet."

This is _absolutely_ the expression that usually produces a warm glow starting at her toes, but something's a little off with him, and she can't quite identify it.

"We all missed you, of course," Rachel says carefully, "but Noah's worked very hard on the piece..."

Finn's muttering something that sounds like '_I'll bet,' _but Rachel shoots him a tiny look and continues, "...and I think everyone will be pleasantly surprised."

"Yeah, Puck can surprise people all right," he says bitterly and she's at a standstill because she sympathizes, but Finn _came back_ to Glee and Noah is a part of that. She'd thought that at least within the confines of Glee they'd managed to find some sort of equilibrium.

"Finn," she says, reaching out a hand but he takes a step back and _wait_...is he _angry_ with her? She hears a familiar _'what the hell?_' sound in her head and her hand flies to her mouth to prevent the words from coming out because channeling Puck right now? So inappropriate.

The warning bell rings and Finn lets out a deep breath and shakes his head. "Never mind, Rach. I'm just being stupid. Look, I gotta run. I'll see you at practice."

She walks out of the empty classroom a few steps behind Finn and as she turns in the opposite direction to head to her classroom, Noah's stationary figure catches her eye. She smiles automatically but he's staring at the door she's just come out of. Then he looks at her and nods, and she can feel her smile brightening.

Their paths don't cross again until rehearsal. Rachel is in the practice room, consulting with the musicians until they tell her to go away. She admits it's probably justified.

By the time she turns around, everyone has arrived. Noah is sprawled back in a chair about half way back. His face is relaxed, even careless, but his one foot taps an uneven rhythm. She sinks down into the chair next to him. "Are you nervous?" she whispers, "because although performance anxiety totally normal, we're extremely well prepared and in addition, this is simply a friendly exhibition in front of our friends." At this, she looks at Finn, staring fixedly at a point on the wall about six inches above her head and Quinn who's whispering to Santana and rolling her eyes.

"Nervous? Try to turn down the crazy a little bit, Berry," he scoffs, but her lips curve upwards slightly when his foot stops tapping.

Mr. Schue calls the group to order and she and Noah move to the front to take their places at opposite sides of the room. Rachel signals the musicians (ignoring the salutes) and holds her breath waiting for Noah's cue.

And then at exactly the right moment, just like they'd practiced and practiced, he's right there:

_**Do you hear me? I'm talking to you  
Across the water across the deep blue ocean  
Under the open sky, oh my, baby I'm trying**_

It must be nerves, the butterflies in her stomach and the flush on her cheeks. She takes a breath and sings:

_Boy I hear you in my dreams  
I feel your whisper across the sea  
I keep you with me in my heart  
You make it easier when life gets hard_

They turn towards one another, and as the moves of the choreography brings them closer, she notices separately, as if in isolation, his eyes, his hands, the set of his shoulders. Circling, palm to palm, he slides behind her and she smiles as they execute the spin perfectly and sing together:

**I'm lucky I'm in love with my best friend  
Lucky to have been where I have been  
Lucky to be coming home again  
Ooh ooh ooh**

From that point, Rachel loses herself in the performance. It's something that happens from time to time, usually when she feels a profound emotional connection to the music and it's...well, it sounds cliche or silly, but it's a little bit magical. She doesn't really come back to herself until the last notes are dying away and his hands are clasping hers on his heart. She's staring into his dark eyes--why are they never the same color for more than two minutes in a row?

And then Mike and Matt and Brittany are crowding around with congratulations and everyone else is clapping, even Kurt and Mercedes, with enthusiasm. Or almost everyone. Quinn is staring at Puck. And Finn is standing up, shaking off Artie's hand.

"Puck's timing was off," Finn says flatly. "He came in late on the second stanza."

"Bullshit, dude," Puck responds, "but you know what? Better too late than too early."

There's a beat of silence and then Finn snarls and Mr. Schue makes clucking noises and the room erupts in noise.

"Enough!" Rachel shouts and the room falls silent.

She likes Finn, she really does, but if she can give up the occasional lead, then so can he. A point which she explains at length. At full volume. When she finishes she turns the full wattage of her smile at him and then at Mr. Schue, who blinks nervously.

"I think you can agree, Mr. Schuester that our rendition sets a new standard for Glee duets. I look forward to your decision regarding it's possible inclusion in the Regionals set list." She looks at him meaningfully. "Now perhaps, we can continue our rehearsal."

After practice, Finn asks if he can give her a ride home and after a tiny (and irrational?) hesitation, she agrees. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

Noah is leaning against the piano when she approaches. She has to take a breath (stupid butterflies). "I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank you for all the effort you've put in, Noah. We...we worked well together."

"No problem, Berry," he shrugs, then abruptly nodding towards the door: "Looks like you got his attention."

She hesitates, then shrugs, mirroring his gesture. "Maybe." She's biting her lip as she leaves.

*****

**A/N: Song: 'Lucky' by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat **


	3. The Reality of my Surroundings

**A/N: You guys are amazing and your reviews, etc. make my week! **

*****

The thing about Rachel is that maybe she isn't _trying_ to fix things but sometimes she just does anyway. Puck thinks she's got her work cut out for her today.

There's four of them in some empty classroom, him and Rachel and Quinn and Mike (who's looking scared as hell). Another genius move of Schue's, the whole Glee club is broken up into groups while Mike and Matt and Brittany are all teaching some crazy hard piece of choreography. Fine, whatever. But this group?

"Uhmmm, so okay guys, could we maybe, like, try it again?"

"For the last time, Puck, will you put away those disgusting cheese puffs. This is rehearsal, not lunch!"

"Mike, please don't take this in any way as a criticism of the integrity of your artistic process, but could you explain one more time why a side-step, pass and spin was substituted for the side-step, pass and turn?"

"Fuck, Chang, get started already so we can get out of here sometime before I die?"

Yeah, the only thing they're missing is Finn.

Quinn only speaks to him to say something nasty and she probably hates Rachel's guts. Chang is freaking because Rachel's staring at him with her notebook open and her pencil ready to start taking notes (face it, it takes a stud to withstand Berry's full attention). And him? He's in a room with one ex-girlfriend and one baby momma and this would be some funny shit if it were happening to some other asshole.

When the hell did Glee become the axis his damn life turns on? (The duet ended up being a little bit of a game changer.)

For one thing, he's not some kind of pussy, so he can totally admit that he'd be up for hooking up with Rachel again and the _entire _time he's singing with her, moving closer, brushing against her, he's thinking about some of the stuff they could do together. (Yeah, like anyone could sing a duet with Berry and _not_ think about the things she could do with her mouth if she wanted to.) He doesn't even have to wonder if the two of them would still be good together, because he _knows_ it. And just maybe, _maybe_ it wouldn't be so hard to get her because she's pressed up against him just a little tighter than she has to be.

But then cockblocked: there's Finn with the ride home, which Puck recognizes as his signature move. Puck _would_ laugh--seriously no wonder Hudson's never gotten laid--but shit, who's bringing her home? Not that it matters, it was just an idea and face it, he's got more than enough on his plate. Still...Rachel and Finn? _Fuck_. He just doesn't want to think about it.

And then there's Quinn. After the duet she's not pretending he doesn't exist any more. But as fucked as it sounds, he kind of wishes she still was because it's like her one goal in life now is to break his balls over shit.

And not even the shit that's kind of justified, like yeah, he did put that baby in her belly (which is fucking impossible to ignore because she's really sticking out now and almost waddling). No, over complete bullshit like the 'hawk, and how he dresses (dude, that _Fishbone_ shirt is _vintage_) and his snack selection and his language (WTF?).

If it wasn't for the fact that somehow they've got to get their shit together before the sprog pops out, he'd so call her on it. But as it is, he just sits there like a moron and takes it, which isn't doing wonders for his temper.

Today's no different. They've run through the moves twice, which is good enough for him, only _hello_, Mike might be instructing, but it's _Rachel's_ group. Quinn's already yelled at him because his foot is in the way when she steps on it, and then she starts in on his fucking hair and follows with a few choice insults based on his habits and morals. (_This_ coming from the knocked-up chastity queen.) Mike makes some mumbled excuse--the bathroom, or checking in with Mr. Schue or some crap. Of course, he makes the tactical mistake of calling Mike chicken shit for running away--it's funny and he doesn't even bother to deny it, but it means he can't follow Chang's ass out the door.

And then it gets interesting because Rachel's starting to look pissed, which figures; she hates having her rehearsal interrupted. Her eyes are narrowed and her lips are pressed together and she's starting to tap her foot and is it _wrong_ that he thinks it's kind of hot?

"Quinn!" Rachel's voice is sharp. "I recognize that this isn't any of my business, although in a sense you've made it my business by pursuing this course of action in front of me and I might add that this is not the first time you've put me in this position..." She's rambling and he can't take his eyes off her, but he'd bet some serious cash that Quinn is wearing the same shocked expression that he is. "...to sum up, as a...as a concerned teammate, I feel I have no choice but to object to the way you've been treating Puck recently."

Turns out? She's less upset about wasting rehearsal time than she is about the way Quinn is reaming him out. Yeah. It's a surprise for him too.

Quinn makes a quick recovery. "What's it to you, Rachel? You can't have them both, you know."

Rachel flushes slightly. "This isn't about me, Quinn. I won't insult you by pretending that I know how you feel or how difficult your life is right now, but I know that this," and here she points to him, "**this** is not about Puck's hairstyle or clothes or any of the other things you've taken issue with. I can only suggest that you talk to him about what is really bothering you." She meets his eyes the first time since she started her outburst and he knows he's still staring at her like an idiot, when she really fucks with his head. "He's a good listener. And he wants to help you and the baby."

Well, shit. He might have known. Berry's going to be his friend whether he likes it or not. (He likes it. A little.)

She gives him a tiny smile (he thinks it's meant to be encouraging) grabs her bag and heads out the door, which he thinks is a pretty smart move, because any second now Quinn is probably going to go postal and fucking lay her out. Or laugh in his face.

Quinn bursts into tears instead. Fuck his life.

He manages not to bail on her. Barely. And somehow, the stupid knot in his stomach that's been there ever since Finn told him Quinn was pregnant is finally loosening a bit. It's not like it's okay or anything; they're both in high school and having a kid and that's _so_ _far_ from okay. But by the end of the hour she's letting him drive her back to Brittany's house and by the end of the week they've put together some kind of agreement for the next few months. He's going with her to the doctor's appointments and he'll help with the bills and she's going to try to rein in the bitchiness (her words, not his, he's stupid, but not that fucking stupid) and let him.

They also decide pretty quickly to skip past the dating part and try it out as friends. He'd be insulted at her lack of interest in getting back on the Puckerman Express if he wasn't so relieved. He asks her again to move in with him anyways--she can have his room, he'll bunk down in the basement with his XBox, but she refuses. It's probably a good thing because having his mother mumble '_shiksa_' under her breath every time Quinn walks by probably isn't the best way to establish a friendship.

Although Quinn brings up adoption once or twice, they don't decide what will happen when the baby is born, but that's all right. He figures he's got time to maybe change her mind.

It keeps him pretty occupied. Some of the appointments are scheduled at weird hours and even though Quinn's not puking any more there's a whole list of things she doesn't want to eat, or look at, or smell. And she has no problem calling when she wants something, even at 6 _fucking_ A.M.

He should be way too busy to think about Berry. And for whatever reason he sure as shit doesn't want to see her walking around holding Hudson's hand like some Disney princess who just found her prince. Basically, he plans on being pretty aggressive about ignoring the two of them.

That plan is shot to hell right out of the gate when he walks into the practice room at the end of lunch on Thursday. He hadn't planned on showing up at all, didn't want to be sitting there while she was ditching him. But yeah, he had to grab the gym bag he's left behind after yesterday's rehearsal (that shit starts to move around and walk away unless he washes is ever so often).

"Hello Noah," she smiles up at him from her seat, "I was wondering if you were having lunch today."

"Lunch?" he says stupidly, swinging around, looking for Finn.

She tilts her head, looking at him curiously. "Are you hungry?" she ask finally, gesturing to her lunchbox.

It's twisted, like serious _Paranormal Activity_ shit, how stoked he is that she's here, when he was pretty sure that she'd be spending 24/7 gazing soulfully into Hudson's eyes and it freaks him out. He's about a second from walking out, which, _shut up_, is so not running away.

But...

"Starving. Whatcha got?" he says, pulling up the chair next to her.

Fuck, man. A twinkie's a twinkie.

It's a little awkward though. Pretending she doesn't exist is not going to work if she's going to keep having lunch with him. Ignoring Berry is something you've got to _commit_ to, it doesn't just _happen_. So he sees her a lot throughout the day. He's not some crazy stalker. _No, asshole, just some bully who memorized her schedule so you could slushie her._ Right. Shit.

But he watches anyway. And he just doesn't get it. She as friendly as ever, walking around like she doesn't have a care in the world. Finn, on the other hand, looks like his pet puppy just bit him.

_"So Rach, were you planning on wrapping those legs around Hudson any time soon? Or you know, falling in love with him or shit like that?"_

_"Why yes, Noah. We're going steady and I'll be giving it up to him on Prom night and he tells me he loves me five times a day and I'm pretty sure that we're destined to be together forever." _

Or?

_"Actually Noah, I'm not pursuing a relationship with Finn and these short skirts are actually for you, so let's go make out in your truck and then I'll tell you all the reasons why I chose you."_

That conversation? DID NOT HAPPEN.

He's not going to ask, because he doesn't have a vagina and also? He wonders if she's ever not asked a question because she didn't want to know the answer.

But he's a pushy bastard and he's got to know. He asks anyway. Sort of.

"So Berry, what's new?" He leans up against her locker between classes, ignoring the curious stares.

She looks around, confused. "Noah? Shouldn't you be on your way to the nurse's office?"

"I thought I'd look in on Math class today," he says casually.

"Excellent! I've often hoped that you would allow yourself to move beyond the shallow stereotype of 'dumb jock.' In addition," she frowns, "you need to maintain your academic eligibility to participate in extra-curriculars."

He decides not to tell her that his academic eligibility is pretty much guaranteed for as long as he averages 15 points and 8 assists per game.

"Didn't see you at the game last night. What's the matter, did the Cheerios steal back their pompoms?" he asks as they walk towards class.

She looks down at her books. "I was working on something for Glee."

He's heard that one before--actually he's used that one before.

"Oh yeah? Spill." You, know. If she wants. Not that it matters.

She shakes her head and smiles kinda privately, and _fuck_, it's that little smile that he knows, because he was the one who put it on her face for about 36 hours.

He liked it a lot better then.


	4. So Tonight That I Might See

**A/N: Otherwise known as the chapter where a lot of stuff happens to Rachel. Thanks to everyone who is reading, alerting and reviewing! Fanfiction is being a little difficult with notifications, so if I haven't responded to your review I apologize! **

**I wish I owned Glee, but no....**

*****

She's dragging her feet on her way out to the parking lot. Not literally, of course--that would leave scuffs on the toes of her ballet flats, and she loves these shoes. But she's at her locker, rearranging things that don't need rearranging, using extra care to put her duet notes back in her music binder, lining up her collection of star-shaped magnets. She runs through her classes in her head--there's an essay on the Monroe Doctrine due next week and she really ought to look over her biology homework again before she turns in it. Maybe she should make flashcards. Meiosis and Mitosis are easy to mix up.

She catches a glance of herself in her locker mirror and presses her hands to her face trying to force the color away from her cheeks and _what is she doing_, because she's _Rachel Berry_ and she has goals and hopes and dreams and she _goes after_ what she wants. So again, why is she in here, delaying, when Finn Hudson is out there in the parking lot, waiting to give her a ride home? (She hasn't been watching Finn Hudson for all these months not to recognize when he's making a move.)

She's still trying to untangle her thoughts when she sees a flash of red from the corner of her eye and a pair of dark eyes meet hers in the mirror.

"Well look at you, Rachel Berry! Well-played. You certainly give good entertainment value."

Rachel turns to find Santana regarding her with an amused smile. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says cautiously.

Santana's mouth twists a little. "I suppose you don't. If you had any game at all you'd have had Finn ages ago. No, I mean that balancing act you've got going with Finn and Puck. Finn didn't like your duet with Puck, not one little bit. I'd imagine you'll be hearing from him soon."

Rachel can feel the line of her spine stiffen up and Santana laughs. "Already? Boy moves fast. Well, make the most of it. Finn doesn't have the longest attention span these days."

The worst part? As best she can tell, this isn't Santana being angry or malicious. This is Santana's version of _friendly_. (And don't think that doesn't blow her mind.) Santana is simply telling the truth as she sees it.

"Seriously, though," Santana continues, "As fun as it is to watch you screw with Puck's head, you should be careful. You aren't really up to his weight."

"We're just friends." And she's almost certain it's true, so why does it sound like a lie?

"Right. _Friends._ Don't fool yourself, Rachel, it's the boys against the girls in this world and _friendship_? Just another manipulation." She flicks her perfect ponytail. "Jesus, it must be free advice day, so here's one more for you: you've got the wrong tiger by the tail if you think you'll keep Puck around for long without spreading your legs."

"Santana! We don't! I mean there's nothing like that between us!" Except possibly when he sings. Or pulls off his sweatshirt. Or does something sweet like eat lunch inside because she's cold. But other than that, no. (It really doesn't count if it's all in her head, right?)

"Didn't look like nothing, just saying." Santana shrugs indifferently.

Brittany comes bouncing up behind Santana. "Hi San! Hi Rachel! Nice song today, Rachel--you and Puck were totally hot together!"

"We are not together!" Rachel almost shrieks.

"Right. Sex isn't dating." Brittany says vaguely and for the first time in years, Rachel is actually speechless. "Anyway San, ready for the mall? Wanna come too, Rachel? We could go clothes shopping. I could show you where the stores are." She nods at Rachel encouragingly.

"Rachel's got plans, Britt. Maybe some other time." Santana's voice is amused.

"Kay! I'll call you!" Brittany smiles over her shoulder as she drags Santana off.

Rachel watches them go for a second and then gently closes her locker door and leans her forehead against the cool metal.

She wants to be careful, cautious and smart about this and at the same time she wants to accept without question that Santana and Kurt and the rest of them for that matter, are mistaken about Finn and his motivations. She wants to avoid the whole situation and call her fathers for a ride but she also wants ignore her misapprehensions and sit beside Finn, and drive together to nowhere in particular. (Part of her just wants to go back into the practice room and ask Noah to play his guitar for her while she closes her eyes for a few minutes.)

She wants everything too much. But is it really too much to ask that Finn Hudson like her enough to want to date her without being engaged in some kind of game or competition or whatever this is with Noah? For it to just be about the two of them?

Maybe she's overreacting. Sighing, she heads out to the parking lot to meet Finn. And he's sweet and attentive and he opens the door for her. And they haven't turned on to the main road before he brings up Noah.

She looks out the window and watches the familiar blur of houses and landscapes rush by and lets the _'trying to look out for you'_ and _'only wants one thing'_ and _'not to be trusted'_ rush by her too.

It's obscurely comforting to know that as much of a mystery he's been to her, as much as she could never read his intentions, as much as he surprised her again and again, he clearly can't read her either because if he could, he'd realize this she's kind of angry, _furious_ even.

He pulls into her driveway and he's finishing off with "I'm just telling you this for your own good."

And just like that, her anger fades a little and there's an acknowledgement mixed in it, because everything he's doing right now--it's quite possible that she's done it too.

"You're not, you know," she says, turning towards him.

"What?" he asks blankly.

"You're not telling me this for my own good. Not right now. Not about this. It's not even really about me."

It's her words or maybe the tension in her shoulders or the tight line of her mouth, but he's looking at her, really looking at her, for the first time since they got in the car. He reaches for her hand, a little nervously, but still with that sweet half-smile and she stares down at their hands resting together on her knee.

"Rach, you and me...of course it's about you."

She shakes her head. "It's not. But I understand. God, I...I haven't always acted in your best interests either. When I told you about Quinn and Puck..." (She can't say 'baby' to him again, can't re-live the look on his face.) "...I should have ..."

He interrupts. "You told me the truth. Somebody had to." But he's moved his hand and now he's the one who won't meet her eyes.

"Absolutely. _Someone_ had to. But it didn't have to be me. I could have used what I knew to convince them to tell you themselves."

"Would that have made any difference?" he asks bitterly.

"I don't know. That's not my point. When I look back on my actions...I wanted to be the one who told you, at least in part because I wanted to be _important_ to you, _special_ to you, more than I wanted to be a good friend to you and I sincerely regret that."

"Rachel..."

She waits for a beat, then two, then three, but Finn doesn't say anything else and Rachel's hand is on the car door handle.

"Finn, I think we could both stand to work on being better friends," she says and then she slips out without waiting for a response.

She's got her key in the lock of her house when she hears him pull away and she doesn't turn or wave (even though a tiny part of her brain acknowledges that it would be _friendly_ to do so) because a thought has hit her with almost as much force as a blow. She thinks that possibly she's figured it out--what she really wants, for now at least.

She wants to take her heart off her sleeve and keep it someplace safe.

*****

Lying in her bed at night she thinks that becoming a better friend is simply the equivalent of a New Year's resolution. Resolutions mean planning and actions steps and measurable tasks--all things that play to her strengths. But in the morning, she remembers that friendships with real people are much more complex than ones on chart paper.

So she hesitates for a long time, watches Quinn pick and pick and pick at Noah and wonders what to do. Or what not to do. With Finn, she'd like to go back in time and say less or say something different or say it to someone else. Surely that makes restraint the wisest course. She shouldn't get involved. And besides, Noah is more than capable of defending himself.

Only he doesn't. And she's watching him closely enough to see every dig hit, just a little. (His knuckles whiten where he's gripping the edge of his seat. She remembers that from the day they broke up on the bleachers and it's obscurely painful to watch now.)

She's nervous. And she's grilling poor Mike who doesn't deserve that at all.

And then: so much for restraint. Noah is staring at her like someone dropped her on her head when she was a baby. Quinn is looking at her like she's the one who wants to do it.

She should probably go.

Mike is lingering outside the door as she walks out.

"Is it safe to go inside?" he asks, wincing a little.

"Uhhmm, perhaps not. I think...I hope they may be talking."

Mike shrugs and looks down at his shoes. "I don't hear any screaming anyway. Well, I guess this practice was a bust. _Crap_. Matt, Britt and I spent ages coming up with those moves."

Rachel hesitates. "If you've got the time we could still practice."

"Yeah?" he asks, brightening.

"Sure! You're an excellent instructor."

"Thanks Rach! Hey, if you want, I'll show you how to Pop 'n Lock!"

Rachel laughs. "I've always admired your Pop 'n Lock, Mike."

They go to back to the practice room which is empty now and work on the routine and Mike breaks out a few of his best dance moves and she sings a little. It's fun and she thinks that maybe she's getting the hang of this friendship thing or at least becoming better at avoiding antagonizing people, which is an excellent first step.

Mike leaves to pick up his little brother and she calls Dad for a ride. Waiting on a bench in front of the main entrance, she has an excellent view of the side parking lot and of Noah walking side by side with Quinn, their heads bent together in conversation as he helps her carefully into his truck. They look like they've resolved their differences. In fact, from here it looks remarkably like a happy ending.

Excellent. Really. She couldn't be more happy for them.

That night, when Jesse calls and asks for a date for the third time, she doesn't turn him down.

*****

They met last week at a music store downtown while reaching for the same score (_Pal Joey_, overrated, but she likes a few of the songs). Jesse recognizes her (although she's still unclear from where) and introduces himself although it's not necessary; Vocal Adrenaline's performance isn't something she's likely to forget, nor is their male lead. There's an awkward moment when they simultaneously realize that they both have a grip on the score and it's the last copy. They do a little dance, each insisting the other take it, until he smiles and says maybe they can share it. They go to the register and solemnly split the cost and she giggles when he insists on counting out the last 17 cents to make it exactly even.

He invites her out for coffee there and then, but she's worrying about what her team members (really Noah...and Finn of course) might think if they saw her socializing with the _enemy_, so she declines. He's charming about it, but she call tell he's surprised, can tell he's not used to being turned down. He gets her phone number anyway, "To ensure the smooth transition of the score," he says, and she thinks he's a little smooth himself.

Three days later he calls to invite her to an a capella music festival--he just happens to have an extra ticket. And she's tempted because she'd really like to go but it's Daddy's birthday, so it's easy to say no.

His persistence is flattering, she'll give him that and besides, it's a novelty, being pursued. She thinks she could get used to it.

The third time he asks, she says yes before she really thinks about it.

Rationally, there's no compelling reason not to. (Noah and Quinn _as an entity_ closes a door she isn't prepared to acknowledge.)

They do ordinary things. Movies, a basketball game at Carmel, or he picks her up after dance class and drives her home. She changes her mind from one moment to the next as to whether it's just what she wants or just a distraction. Can it be both?

The Gleeks are talking about her, but they always do. Finn looks confused. (Unkind but true to say he usually does.) Noah ignores it and when she's with him, she does too.

Things do get a little strange as Regionals approach. Jesse is calling her _all_ the time. (Noah smirks whenever she hits the ignore button.) When they're together, he's jumpy and distracted.

Still, the first time she seriously considers breaking up with him isn't until she's sitting in 4th period English class, counting the minutes until lunch.

She's never been one to _settle_. And it doesn't say much for her relationship with Jesse that lunch with Noah is the high point of her week.

No question. This was definitely easier on chart paper.


	5. Kind of Blue

**A/N: Still don't own Glee. But happily am only weeks away from seeing it again! Thanks a million to all readers and reviewers!**

*****

Shit, it's not like it takes a long time to figure out what she's up to. The Gleeks act like they have no other purpose in life than to gossip about her. Kurt's running round screaming like a little girl--hell, even Santana and Brittany have her tucked away, _blushing_, in a corner of the practice room trying to get her to spill about her about her sex life.

Yeah, _that_. So totally wrong.

First, someone needs to take Rachel aside and fucking clue her in on some damn team etiquette. Asshole is the _lead_ damn _singer_ of their biggest rival. Seriously, does he go fuck the Kennedy cheerleaders the night before the homecoming game? Well, yes he does. But that's just to piss off those pricks on the Kennedy team, which is so not the same thing.

Second, no fucking way. No way she's getting any, certainly not from some douche who looks like he'd need both hands and an instructional manual to find his own dick. Berry barely even holds hands with him (so he's seen them around, whatever, it's a small town), so there's no way he's even rounded third. Second, tops, although Puck doesn't like to think about that because picturing someone else (_on a rival team, this close to Regionals, blah, blah, blah_) touching her boobs makes him want to break something.

So what the fuck is she doing with him? She wants to spend time with someone who can sing, she should stick a little closer to home. You know, for team unity or shit like that. Not Finn, obviously, because that ship has apparently sailed--and how the fuck did that happen? And not Artie--dude has '_taken'_ tattooed on his forehead even if he doesn't know it yet. And Matt and Mike, nice guys, but shit, she'd have them rolled up within a week. Which leaves Hummel. _Fine with him._

Whatever it is, they don't talk about it. Thank fuck. (Even if he sort of wants to know.)

But say he _did_ want to know? Even then, there's not much time to talk anymore, because with only two weeks to go, they're all pulling together any scrap of time they can get to practice. Which not only means a wake-up call way earlier than he wants to talk, much less sing, but lunch is now when they run through choreography. So no more lunch_ together_, together.

And yeah, it's not really a problem because he can always eat in Chem. (Across the room he notices that Finn is too. He wants to go tell the idiot not to let his sandwich dip into the chemicals. That shit's not a condiment.)

It's just that he misses his damn Twinkies.

Schue announces the final set list (after carefully explaining to Brittany what _'confidential'_ means.) They don't get the duet, instead it goes to Artie and Mercedes who are going to sing '_Love is Strange_.' Tell him about it. She looks up at him through her lashes, but doesn't say anything and he wonders if she's pissed because she wants the number or relieved not to be singing a love song in front of her dickhead boyfriend or something else.

She gets the ballad though, some showy piece called _'A Change in Me'_ and which she loves because it's Broadway and resents because it's Broadway and is Schuester trying to put her in a box? She's spending all her time practicing it, which she calls '_immersing myself in the emotional center of the song'_. Like _all_ her time. Whatever. At least she's not with the douche.

He doesn't even know the extent of it until he drops by school on a Friday evening to pick up his history notes for the test on Monday. Sure, _that's_ some fucked up shit, but you know, basically because of the kid and also Berry's started extending her reach into his education (He's not sure how she found out about his academic free pass but he has his suspicions. _Fucking Hudson_). And now it's all about it being _unconscionable_ to stand by and watch him fuck up his own future. Or something like that.

Quinn's in the passenger's seat because he's driving her back to Britt's from the OB's office. It's at the point where he could make the trip blindfolded because it's like they want to see her every three minutes now. Not that he's complaining because that heartbeat thing is still pretty fucking amazing.

"Quinn, I gotta grab something from my locker. You want to come in or wait for me here?"

Quinn sighs. "I'll stay here. But I'm tired and hungry, Puck so for the sake of our non-relationship, could you hurry the hell up?"

Puck grins, he loves it when the ice-queen swears, because that's totally the influence of his bad-ass kid, but Quinn starts full-on glaring, so he moves his ass. She gets mean when she's hungry.

He's got his stuff and is ready to make a quick exit, but there's a light on in the practice room and the door's cracked open and he's thinking _Rachel_ without even really thinking about it. He takes a quiet step in and she's there, at the piano, accompanying herself as she runs through the chorus at half volume.

_And I-- I never thought I'd leave behind  
My childhood dreams but I don't mind  
I'm where and who I want to be  
No change of heart  
A change in me_

He's heard her sing it dozens of times before, but there's something about this, maybe how quiet she is, or how small she looks sitting by herself on the piano bench, that strikes him as sad. And he feels something twist in him, like in his chest, which he doesn't expect, because the easiest way to think about Berry--the way most of them think about her--is like she's some kind of singing Energizer Bunny in really short skirts.

Probably not too many people know that isn't true. He'll admit to himself that it's fucking scary that he's apparently one of them. He should definitely go, could slip out, leave without her even knowing he was there. Instead, he lets the door slam behind him and chooses not to think about why he's still in the room with her.

She jumps and swings around, bringing her hand to throat dramatically. "Noah, you startled me!"

He looks at her with sudden irritation. "Fuck Berry, don't you watch horror movies? What the hell are you doing here alone? Don't you know the hot chick on her own late at night always gets offed first?"

She tosses her hair, but maybe looks a little pleased as well. "Your concern is touching, but I would hardly characterize 6:00 PM as late at night."

"It ain't early either, babe. School was out hours ago. Does Loverboy know you're here all by your lonesome on date night?"

"If you're referring to Jesse," she says stiffly, "he has practice as well. We don't feel the need to live in each other's pocket."

"Or spend much time together at all," he says, struggling to hide the satisfaction in his voice.

She ignores that. "So what are you doing here anyway, Noah?"

"Breaking into Figgin's office to check out his porn selection."

_"Noah!"_

"Putting the _'Hummel for Prom Queen'_ posters up."

She throws her pencil at him for that one and he ducks, laughing, and yeah, he's going to get back at her.

"Looking for you, baby," he purrs and takes a step closer and it's fucking _awesome_ watching her eyes widen, how she takes a step back. And _shit_ is that her tongue making a nervous sweep against her lips?

Awesome except that he's realizing hewants that, that exact reaction, way more than he should. Like maybe he should stop screwing around, stop pretending he's kidding or that he's just doing it to make her blush. Or maybe not. She has a _boyfriend_. And the last time he fucking went there it didn't end up so well.

Like clockwork the phone rings and it's him. They've all heard it way too often not to recognize it. And please? Elton John's _'Tiny Dancer'_? According to Kurt, the douche picked it out himself. Dumb ass ring tone.

She looks irritated as she picks up, and he'd like that, but over the last few weeks they've all seen a lot of that too, and she's still taking his calls, so...

He doesn't bother to pretend he's not listening.

"No, I'll be wrapping up in a few moments. Thank you, but I'm all set. No, really Jesse, Daddy's here right now." Her eyes flick up to him guiltily.

Nice.

"Daddy, huh?" he says as she hangs up. "Kinky, but okay, I'm game."

"Shut up," she says witheringly, "We were talking about a ride home, as you well know."

Ride home. Quinn. _Shit._

"You need a ride?" he asks, jingling his keys in his pocket. "Only, we've got to motor because I've got Quinn in the truck and you know how that is." He winces, "I can pretty much guarantee a stop at the Wendy's drive-through if you're hungry."

Maybe he imagines it, the tiny inhale, the slight hesitation, but then she shakes her head. "I'll be fine. Daddy should be leaving the house in a few minutes."

He frowns and she smiles reassuringly, "Don't worry, Noah. I'm relatively certain I can fend off any mass murderers for another 10 minutes. I'll belt my high 'C' and they won't know what hit them."

"Yeah, all right Berry," he says, a little unwillingly. "Later."

It pisses Quinn off to no end, but he moves shit around in the bed of the truck that doesn't need moving until he sees Daddy's Lexus pull up to the front entrance.

*****

The hardest part is getting the dickhead to throw the first punch (key to avoiding trouble later). He's whistling as he walks back down the corridor to where New Directions is waiting to perform their final number at Regionals.

*****

They fucking kill and everyone's laughing and hugging as they head offstage when she catches his eye and jerks her head to the left, so he hangs back a little, ducks behind some screens and waits for her to catch up. Without a word she yanks him backstage, her hand clamped around his bicep and shit, she's fucking strong for her size, not that he's going to resist, not when she's pulling him behind the curtain with her fierce little expression. He kinda likes it, the two of them, crowded together toe to toe in semi-darkness.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asks, her voice so low he has to bend towards her to feel it.

"What are you talking about, Berry?" But yeah, he knows what she's talking about.

"When Vocal Adrenaline came off the stage an hour ago, Jesse was fine. I understand through the grapevine that he's currently sporting a black eye and a split lip."

"And you think I have something to do with that?"

She grabs his hand and turns it in her own. He has to suppress a shiver when she runs her thumb gently over his bruised knuckles. Suddenly, she presses sharply.

"Ouch! Berry, what the fuck?" he growls, yanking his hand from her grasp.

"I thought so. Why?" she asks him simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world to explain.

"Look, it's not like it was planned or anything. I was walking by, your dick boyfriend said some crap to a bunch of his dick buddies and I expressed my disapproval." He watches her lips twitch at that. "End of story."

"Ex-boyfriend," she corrects him. "What did he say?"

Ex-_fucking_-boyfriend? He should have hit him harder. "He dumped you the week before Regionals?"

"If it matters, I broke it off with him. Please Noah, did he say something about me?" Her warm brown eyes stare up at him appealingly.

She suddenly seems a lot closer. And fuck, it's warm.

"About parts of you, anyway." he shifts uncomfortably and tries to focus over her shoulder or something. "Listen, don't read too much into this; someone fucks with a teammate, you don't let it slide."

"You laughed hysterically when Danny Paulsen described Santana's skills at...well, lets just say her skills."

"Yeah and where did his balls end up? Santana can manage her own shit, all right?"

"And you think I can't?" she asks indignantly.

It's not a good idea to try to explain this. Hell, he's not even sure why seeing the douche smirk, hearing him talk about her, set him off the way it did. (Yeah, he does.)

"Berry, I_ know_ you can't. Fuck, I slushied you twice a week for over a year. You still get shit at school. So whatever, I took care of it for you this time."

He can't really read her expression in the dim light, but he's willing to bet she's not happy--though shit, if she's going to get pissy every time he hits someone...

But she's not pissed, or if she is he's gonna work on doing it some more, because she's pressed up against him with her hands fisted in his shirt and her fucking amazing mouth is soft and warm against his and her perfume, or her soap, or her shampoo is making him _crazy_.

He's not going to waste any time because who the hell knows how long this is going to last, so he slides his hands to her ass and yanks her against him, her center against his thigh and the gasp she makes into his mouth is the sexiest damn thing he's ever heard. He nips at her bottom lip, mostly to hear it, feel it, again and her tongue darts outs and meets his and he's deepening the kiss.

Her arms slide up around his neck, like she wants to hold him closer and he's definitely okay with that, but then she's pulling away, leaning her forehead against his chin, breathing heavily--they both are--and he presses a few kisses softly into her hair.

"Noah," she says quietly, letting her arms fall to her sides and taking a step back and he's blinking, because she's always made his head spin, but shit that was fast. He makes a move to pull her back, but she bites her bottom lip and what the _hell_ did he do to put that look on her face? Fuck, he's got to get out of here and he takes a step, but her next words freeze him.

"God...You and Quinn...I can't be that person _again_...I'm sorry...." And she's slipped away while he's still gaping after her.

_She thinks? 'Cause that is so not on. _

And it's not. He and Quinn are the _definition_ of not-together and if he's being honest, he's pretty fucking thankful for it. Like _every_ _single day_--she's not super successful in reining in the bitch. But fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ he can't say they aren't involved, not with his baby on the way.

She thinks Quinn is what he wants. And he thinks it's maybe Rachel. It's too much for him to deal with. Way too much for her (why would she even bother?).

He needs to leave her alone.

*****

**A/N: Song: A Change in Me from the musical Beauty and the Beast**


	6. The World Is New

**A/N: Thank you for your encouragment! Don't own Glee. Will shortly find out whether Oprah does...**

*****

Rachel is walking, glowing, shining through the halls of McKinley with her arms wrapped around herself, trying to hold in her happiness before it floats away with her. She barely knows where she's going, she thinks it's back to second period, but after the last fifteen minutes in the Guidance Office with Ms. Pillsbury and Mr. Schue, she's so giddy that it could be absolutely anywhere.

They call her in, so obviously brimming with excitement that at first Rachel assumes that they must be announcing their engagement but before she could puzzle out why they would tell her apart from the group (surely they don't think she still has that embarrassing crush?) Mr. Schue bursts out, "An old friend of Emma's just accepted a position as the coordinator for the University of Chicago's Summer Program for the Performing Arts. You've heard of it, I assume?"

Rachel looks at him, just the tiniest bit indignant. _Of course_ she's heard of the one of the premier summer arts programs in the country. College students from all over the nation compete for admission to the workshops. It figures prominently in her five year plan.

Ms. Pillsbury's soft voice picks up. "The University is piloting a program to bring some of the country's most talented high school students together for a three week program taught by the same instructors that teach the collegiate workshops."

And just like flipping a switch, Rachel is thrown directly into attack mode. She must, _absolutely must_, be one of those students. She looks blindly at the two adults, already planning her application, wondering who to choose to write her letters of recommendation (one dance, one theatre and of course Mr. Schue for voice), when Mr. Schue breaks in on her reverie.

"I sent in a video of your performance at Regionals, Rachel. The admissions committee was absolutely blown away. You're in."

And there are shrieks (from herself and Ms. Pillsbury) and happy tears (from all three) and here she is on her way back to class, floating on air because she's going to study, work, and sing with some of the best. (Stick it, Jesse!)

Nothing, not their second place finish at Regionals, (her only comfort is that Vocal Adrenaline finished third), not the uncertain status of her friendship with Noah, (note to self: can it be described as a 'friendship' if you haven't spoken more than a dozen words to someone in two weeks? What about if you still find yourself wanting to kiss them?), _nothing_ can bring her down.

The very next moment, she's sprawled out on her bottom on the cold tile floor. _Oh please_, she thinks as she tries to regain control over her breathing, _I was speaking symbolically!_

Two hands reach down, haul her up like a rag doll and then move to steady her. She finds herself staring into a pair of hazel eyes. "Noah!" she beams. She can't even scold herself for her over-enthusiasm; seeing him at this moment feels absolutely right.

He frowns down at her a little. "Shit, Berry! Watch where you're going. I took out an entire defensive line last season, what chance do you think a midget like you has against these?" and he flexes a little with the arm that isn't still on her waist.

"Your arms are lovely," she agrees blithely and he quirks an eyebrow. "You hit your head, Berry or just your ass?"

"I assure you, I'm quite all right," she says, smiling up at him. "Better than all right, even."

He smiles back and his eyes seem to darken and he leans in towards her. "Well, I could help...brush you off, maybe," he says suggestively, his hand sliding to her hip and tightening.

She looks up at him through her lashes, (_Rachel Berry! Are you flirting?) _then she twists out of his grip, laughing. "No thanks."

She'd like to fling herself in his arms and let him twirl her around--just because she's so happy of course--but a cloud passes over his features and his smile fades. She tilts her head a little, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. Then as if it were unrelated (and Rachel doesn't think it is), "Have you seen Quinn?"

Well, that's just awkward.

Rachel knows that she's probably passed any number of people in the hallway in the last few minutes without being aware of it in the least, but Quinn, _no_. For a variety of reasons, most of which revolve around the boy in front of her, she's not going to just _miss_ seeing Quinn. She shakes her head. "Not since homeroom. Why?"

"You notice anything off about her?"

Rachel thinks back, remembers looking up from her biology notes, catching Quinn's eye and offering a little smile which was ignored. _Totally normal_. And then, out of the corner of her eye as she returns to her notes, Quinn's hand tightening on the back of a chair as she passes by, knuckles whitening. Certainly nothing in that to worry anyone. But all the same, she is a little concerned.

"I'm not sure," she admits, "Are you looking for her?" He shrugs--she interprets it as a 'yes'. "Do you want me to check the bathrooms?" she asks, although she doesn't really doubt that he'd be in there like a shot there if he felt he needed to. (Or _wanted_ to, if Santana is to be believed.)

"If you want, I suppose," he says carelessly. In Noah Puckerman language, this is, _'Yes please and could you do it now_?'

Rachel almost misses her. She's not where Rachel would have expected her to be. The Cheerios have commandeered the second floor bathroom near the senior lounge for their own and although Quinn isn't in uniform any more, somehow it's never really occurred to her that the social order could have changed to that extent. So when she checks the first floor bathroom at the end of the science wing, it's really only because she's belatedly on her way to her class. She thinks it's empty at first until she hears a noise, a whimper almost, coming from the end stall.

She knocks, awkwardly.

"Go away!" _It's_ _Quinn's voice._

"Quinn, it's me. Rachel." She wonders if identifying herself makes it more or less likely that Quinn will let her in. While she likes to believe that they've made significant progress from the days of 'Man hands' and 'Treasure Trail', the truth is that their relationship is complicated. Largely by Finn Hudson (inescapable) and lately by Noah Puckerman (unexpected).

After a long pause, the stall door opens and Quinn grabs her arm and pulls her inside. The two girls stare at each other for a moment before Quinn sucks in a deep breath and presses one hand to the curve of her stomach. The other hand, still on Rachel's arm, digs in and Rachel yelps.

"Sorry," Quinn hisses, releasing her with eyes closed. Rachel instinctively brings her hands to support Quinn's shoulders, staggering a little as Quinn blows out a sharp breath and slumps a little against her.

"Are you in labor?" Rachel squeaks.

Quinn is still breathing shallowly, but her eyes snap open and meet Rachel's. "No. _No._ These are just Braxton Hicks contractions. I've been having them for a few weeks. She's...she's not due for another twelve days."

"That may not matter, Quinn. Babies come when they come."

"My water hasn't broken," Quinn offers with a hint of desperation.

"Quinn, it's not like the movies! Labor can be well-established before that happens."

"I'm fine. _We're fine._ But can you stay? Just for a minute, until these pass." Quinn's voice projects confidence, but her hand slips into Rachel's and Rachel squeezes it gently.

"Of course. As long as you need." This absolutely marks the longest direct, non-Glee related conversation they've had in months, and it's not uncomfortable. But something's nagging at her and she flashes guiltily to Noah's facade of _'not worried'_. "Quinn, Puck is looking for you. He's concerned."

"Ugghh," groans Quinn, "He's been following me around like one of those stupid male penguins that sit on the egg."

Rachel can't help but giggle and Quinn smiles back. And then doubles over, squeezing Rachel's hand tightly, panting a little.

Crouching down, Rachel rubs Quinn's back soothingly, with the hand that isn't being crushed into powder. _Crap!_ she thinks. W_hat was that? Four minutes? Five? Braxton Hicks my ass!_ She winces and mentally checks herself because her internal monologue is sounding more like Puck than she is comfortable with. When Quinn uncoils, Rachel says as calmly as possible, "Quinn, we should really get out of this bathroom. You need to be checked by a health professional."

"I am NOT in labor," Quinn insists.

"Of course not," says Rachel soothingly. "I'll just call Puck, shall I? And he can take you to your obstetrician's office." _Or the ER_, she thinks privately. She texts Puck with their location and he's bursting into the bathroom within five minutes, just in time to catch the tail end of another contraction.

"Oh fuck." Puck mumbles, seeing Rachel supporting Quinn. Rachel glares at him, looking pointedly at Quinn. He blinks and starts again, "Yeah, I mean, great job babe, let's head to the hospital and get this show on the road."

"We aren't going to the hospital," Quinn says, still breathing heavily.

"Like hell! Get your ass in gear, Quinn!"

"Could we have this conversation somewhere else, for example the parking lot?" Rachel interjects. "_Move_," she mouths to Puck.

The two of them maneuver Quinn out the back and into Puck's truck and Rachel tries to loosen her hand from Quinn's grasp. Quinn responds by grabbing on tighter. "Where are you going? You have to come with me!"

Rachel is almost too shocked to speak. "Quinn, I..."

"No. Absolutely not. You said you'd stay!" Quinn says sharply. "You'll make all this come out all right through sheer force of will! I need you there!"

"Fuck this shit," Puck growls. He reaches over the two of them and buckles Quinn's seat belt, then grabs Rachel's free hand. "Let's go, Berry," he says almost yanking her around to the driver's side. "Get the hell in!"

They aren't out of the parking lot before Quinn has another contraction, so all things considered, Rachel decides to overlook the speeding and other moving violations. She's busy anyway, calling Mr. Schue, and then hospital and Quinn's OB to inform them of their impending arrival. Biting her lip, Rachel wonders if this is the right time to ask about birth plans or if Quinn is pre-registered.

The movement to the labor and delivery wing is fairly rapid once Rachel expedites the registration process with her standard 'tears with the threat of legal action'. The head nurse makes a singularly futile attempt to separate them, but after one glance at Quinn's scared face, Rachel announces that she is the birth coach.

And then naturally, gracefully, inevitably, Rachel takes over.

She holds Quinn's hand. She introduces herself to all the nurses and memorizes the duty roster. When the attending physician comes to examine Quinn she tells Puck and Quinn what questions to ask (and out of the hearing of the doctors, explains the answers). She has the obstetrician paged twice when Quinn has follow-up questions. When she judges that Noah needs to leave the room before he and Quinn get into a screaming match she sends him out for ice, water, snacks, and finally his i-pod, so Quinn can listen to some music--although how relaxing she finds _Nine Inch Nails_ is debatable. When she thinks they need a moment alone together, she goes to the gift shop and purchases a teddy bear and a pair of tiny booties. And when it looks like Quinn needs some time to herself, she pulls Noah out of the room and they sink side by side into chairs in the waiting room three doors down.

Finally, he speaks. "You are saving my shit."

She looks up at him. "Really, Noah? Because, I'm a little confused. Quinn and I are not exactly friends. Actually, before today, had I been forced to guess, I would have said that she disliked me."

He rolls his eyes. "She still may."

Quite possibly true. "Then what am I doing here?" she asks a little wryly.

"What you do best, Berry. Terrorizing the fuck out of everyone for their own good."

She gives a tiny shrug and scuffs her flats against the linoleum.

He shakes his head. "Come on. Don't be like that. Look, I'm just saying that Quinn's right. Life beats the shit out of most of us, but you keep fighting back. Hell, I'd want you in my corner too."

_She is in his corner. Doesn't he know that?_

She's still trying to think of a way to let him know that, ideally (or unfortunately?) without throwing herself at him this time, when he sits back in his chair and lets out a huge breath. "So what was going on with you this morning? You looked like someone got you a date with Streisand."

"Close," she says, a smile lighting up her face. It's strange. She hasn't thought about the summer program for hours and _of course_ she still thrilled, but somehow, being a part of this is...maybe not _better_ but certainly _more_. "Ask me later and I'll tell you all about it."

He cocks his head and looks at her curiously, "I'll hold you to that."

Just then, the duty nurse walks in and announces cheerfully. "Time to suit up. We're getting close."

"Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_." Puck is turning slightly green.

Rachel leans over and slides her hand into his. "You can do this," she says softly.

Straightening, he scoffs. "Of course I can, Berry." But he doesn't let go of her hand right away.

The next hour is a blur of _breathe_ and _push_ and _you're doing beautifully_. Honestly, as a incentive for birth control this rates. But when Rachel hears her draw her first breath, wailing against cold/bright/loud, only to be wrapped and soothed and held, first by Quinn, then Puck and then in her own arms, it's _amazing_.

Noah goes with the baby the nursery to be weighed and measured and Rachel stays with Quinn. But Quinn is sobbing until even the nurses (who have seen it all) are worried. Nothing that Rachel does can get her to stop until she winds down completely and falls asleep. Finally, Brittany and Santana arrive to sit with her and Rachel walks out of the room, finding it hard to believe that the school day is only just now finishing. She wanders through the corridors until she sees him, forehead against the glass of the nursery.

"Look at her," he demands without turning, "She's fucking gorgeous."

"She's absolutely perfect_, _Noah." And she is. But at the same time, Rachel is watching Puck too, watching the way his eyes never leave his daughter. She isn't privy to their current plans regarding the baby, but Quinn has made no secret of the fact that she at least is considering adoption. Puck doesn't say much about it, but seeing him like this? She can read between the lines.

"We could do it, you know," he says. She's not sure if he's talking to her, or to his daughter, or even to Quinn. "Maybe not the couple thing. But the other stuff, raising her, we could totally do it together."

And suddenly she's biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes blood. Rachel remembers Quinn's tears and she doesn't know.

She doesn't know how to fix this. She thinks it may not be fixable at all.


	7. High and Dry

**A/N: Love Glee...**

*****

He's just driving around at random. Random because it doesn't really matter where he goes at all, although he guesses his mother expected him to go to school when she kicked his ass out of the house this morning. Fuck that. Puck's not feeling the call of educational self-improvement today and whatever Berry says, all the nomials and gerunds and shit will still be there when he gets back.

Finding himself at the 7-11, he digs into the seat for enough change to buy a burrito and a coke. He drives by the high school where they're (almost) all in class and sits, parked in the farthest corner of the lot, pulling out at the faint sound of the bell signalling a change of class. And after that, there's really no place to go. If it were the middle of the night, he'd head to the park, sit out behind the little league dugout and ease his sorrows with the last of the Sandy Ryerson special, but at 10:00 A.M. the place is filled with MILFs powerwalking in pairs (been there) and _fucking_ nannies walking their charges (done that).

As it is, he's no place, which is fine by him. Which is actually a fucking relief. No point in going to Quinn's place. Their last link is gone, currently lying in a bassinet somewhere in Columbus.

So it must be random when he ends up in front of her house. Seriously, he barely even knows where she lives, he's only been there about half a dozen times. And at least three of those times were in the middle of the night with either eggs or spray paint. But he's hungry. His eyes move to the nasty burrito lying unwrapped on the seat next to him. Just no--he fucking hates those things, doesn't even know why he bought it. Cranking the window down he lets it fall out onto the street.

Berry's got food. Healthy food, but shit, better than that crap. And he knows where she keeps the spare key although his stomach had clenched when she casually retrieved it in front of him before their impromptu glee 'practice' all those months ago. Without a glance at him, like it never occured to her that he might use that against her, like the slushies and eggs and spray paint had never happened.

Probably like he'd never let himself into her house in the middle of the day and empty her refrigerator.

He doesn't really make a decision but his feet move him up the walk, he kicks over the fake stone and of course, it's empty. Which kind of pisses him off, because he's just remembered she has that good kind of bread he likes and they usually spring for the premium cold-cuts. So he texts Rachel: _***B, wrs ur house key?***_

Which, now that he thinks about it, will work even better because it will piss her off. Some choked off part of him wonders why he wants to piss her off, since she's practically the only person at McKinley who doesn't treat him like a VD, but he has lots of practice ignoring it. Within minutes his phone rings.

"Noah! Where are you? Why do you need to know where my key is?" She's whispering. Why is she whispering?

"I'm fucking your neighbor and we need clean sheets."

"Mrs. Wasserman is 87. I sang at her birthday party last week."

"Your other neighbor."

"Mmm. You and Mr. Ely would make a lovely couple. Where are you? I haven't..._nobody's_ heard from you all week. We've been worried."

He ignores this, because please, who the hell would she be talking about him to? Finn? "Why are you whispering, Berry?"

"I'm calling from the bathroom, of course! It's the middle of 5th period. Are you at my house? Why are you at my house?"

"I'm hungry."

"Hungry, Noah? And you propose to let yourself in and make yourself a sandwich?"

"That's the idea." There's a long pause and he's not sure if she's hung up on him yet. "So where's the key? It's not in that stupid fake rock any more." he tries, just in case she hasn't.

"You told me ages ago that that was a ridiculous place to keep it. You said I might as well hang up a sign asking for miscreants to rob us."

So he had. And about 10 minutes later he had his tongue down her throat and was doing his level best to feel her up, so _no shit_ on the not remembering. Her on the other hand? It slips out before he can stop it. "Fuck, Berry. _That's_ what you remember?"

"You were quite insistent." Another long pause. "And what makes you think that that's all I remember?" This time she really does hang up.

He's still sitting on her steps--remember, no better place to be--when she pulls in the driveway. She looks to the left and then the right before rushing to the door, key in hand. Opening the door, she grabs his arm and yanks him into the house.

"Slow down there Berry. All you had to do was ask," he smirks, more to needle her than from any conviction that she's suddenly decided that she needs to put out for him, like, right now.

"Shhh," she hisses, poking her head out to scan the neighborhood before slamming the door shut. "I am _skipping_ school, Noah! What if someone sees me and informs my fathers? Or the school authorities?" She pales. "They could send a truant officer out after me!"

He rolls his eyes. "You're a desperate criminal all right. So what are you doing here?"

She tilts her head to one side and looks at him, curiousity mixed with caution. Yeah, he gets it, the unasked question is what is _he_ doing _here_. He watches the wheels turning in her head, sees her discard several responses. Finally she says simply, "Come on, I'll make you something to eat."

They eat. Not in silence, of course because she's rattling on about all he's missed at school (I_ don't think you'll have anything to make up in Chemistry, Brittany had an accident with the bunsen burner and Mr. Potvin's been out all week._) and Glee (_Really, I think Mr. Schue has actually lost his mind this time._). When she pauses, he grunts and it approximates a conversation. It's not until she's putting the plates in the dishwasher--he's slumped down in the chair, watching her under half-lowered eye lids--that she finally falls silent.

Fingers picking at the hem of her blouse, she says, "I should head back to school."

He shrugs. "Want to watch a movie?" he asks, staring out the window.

She's moved on to her fingernails, examining the polish for imaginary chips. "I suppose I could. Mrs. Bredon is showing another filmstrip. Usually, she naps."

He complains about the selection in the den. PBS documentaries and National Geographic nature specials. She huffs a little bit and then brings him upstairs to go through her videos. He flicks through. "Musical...musical...chick flick...fucking black and white. Hell Berry, don't you have _anything_ made after 1955?"

She stands next to him, glaring irritably as she pushes the cases back into place. "Nobody is forcing you to watch a movie, Noah."

It's stupid, but something about it makes him tighten up. "Or be here at all, right Berry?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you're thinking it, huh? I mean, seriously, you've got to be wondering what the fuck I'm doing here. We're barely even friends."

He sees her face drop a little, like maybe they'd gotten beyond that. Which to be strictly honest, they are, or should be. Hell, she practically delivered his kid.

But he's angry. Really fucking angry and somehow this is the first time he's let himself feel it. And it's not at her, only it is a little, because Rachel Berry, skipping school? She's here out of pity. He doesn't need it. Unless it's going to lead to a pity fuck. That he could probably get into. Berry all soft skin, writhing underneath him, or hell, on top, riding him, dark hair spilling onto his chest.

Whatever. Not going to happen. Still it's distracting. She's staring at him and he's just looking at those shiny lips of hers and thinking what she could do with them and talking doesn't even make the list but of course this is Rachel.

"We could talk," she suggests.

Hell no.

"Thanks for the sandwich, Berry." He nods in her direction, "Later." Good. He needs to get out of here anyway. He turns towards her door, only to stop short as she grabs his arm and pulls him to a stop. "What the fuck?" he growls at her.

She doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate. "What's going on? You disappear for a week and no one, _no-one_, knows where you are and Quinn says...." She breaks off here and it may be because he's turned to stone under her hand.

"Oh yeah?" he says softly, but something in it makes her drop her hand. "So you and Quinn had a talk? You two BFFs now? Sweet."

"No," she says steadily, "she told Finn and he told me."

Of course. No surprise that Quinn is crying on Finn's shoulder and Finn's always had a jaw on a hinge.

"You got matches Berry, a lighter?" he asks.

She shakes her head, frowning. "Noah..."

He interrupts. "Neither of your gay dads light up, huh? Never mind, I've got something in my truck." He pulls a wad of papers out papers out of his back pocket, folded and creased. "You want to fucking _help_? Here it is, my copy of the parental rights. Fucking waste of paper, I've already signed them away, so we'll burn it."

Her eyes are wide, but he's shut her up and it feels good in a mean, familiar way. He keeps going. "You know how easy it is to give a kid away, Berry? 30 minutes, max. They even give you a social worker to explain this shit." He throws the papers at her and she grabs them reflexively. "So let's make it official--because just between us _friends_, I've fucked things up in every possible way."

"Noah." She stops, closes her eyes briefly and lets out a deep slow breath. "You are--you've _always_ just tried to do the best you could for her in what amounts to an untenable position." She says it quietly, but firmly and he can tell that she believes it. Like she wants him to beleive it. But the thing about Berry is that she thinks that _wishing_ for something, _wanting_ it badly enough, will make it happen.

"So, what? No harm, no foul? Try again. No one's fault _but_ mine, Berry. Mine and Quinn's. I had her _in my hands_, and I just gave her away."

"I know it wasn't that simple," she says, putting the paperwork gently down on her desk and taking a step towards him.

_She doesn't know anything,_ he thinks. He's reaching for the anger to keep him going, but it's ebbing away, replaced by a numbing weariness. He thinks his legs may not hold him up any more so he goes to sit on the edge of her bed. It's all catching up to him and he's tired, tired, tired.

Fuck it. He's too done to care what she thinks. He kicks off his shoes and pushes himself higher up on her bed, dislodging a few pillows as he lies down on his side, facing away from her.

It's a surprise, but not an unwelcome one when she curls up behind him, wrapping herself around his larger frame. And for once, she's just _quiet_, which is good because while he knows they probably aren't going to fuck, he's damned if he's going to cry or talk about his feelings or whatever.

She eases a little closer and he can feel some of his tension, just around the edges, melt away. He's drifting a little when he realizes that their breathing is matching up and he wonders sleepily if that should maybe worry him or something, but before he can figure it out, he's asleep.

She's not there when he wakes up.

He knows before he even looks at the clock that a few hours have passed because the quality of light coming in through the window has changed. Voices sound from downstairs. Shit. Berry and her fathers. He pushes himself up and silently pads to the door, cracking it open. He can't make out individual words, but the tone is pleasant so he assumes that Berry's big crime remains undiscovered. Although he wouldn't put it past her to confess. It's also a pretty safe bet that they don't know about the guy in their daughter's bed and he's not super interested in having that conversation, so he pulls on his shoes and heads to the window.

Excellent. He loves a well placed trellis.

Making a slight detour, he grabs his papers from her desk, stuffing them back into his pocket. And then it's not_ at all_ like he's thinking about her coming back and worrying when she finds him gone because it's totally just that he wouldn't put it past her to track him down or something. So he scrawls a quick note (for fuck's sake, Berry, only pink pens?) on a scrap of paper.

_**See you at school tomorrow.**_

He hesitates but what else is there to say?


	8. Summertime

**A/N: Glee! Glee! Glee! (That is all.)**

*****

Rachel lies sprawled out on her bed wearing as little as possible, thinking about the planet. Stupid planet.

She reaches her arms behind her neck, taking care not to touch any skin and pulls her hair out from under her, fanning it along the pillow. She shifts slightly, trying to find a cooler spot on the sheets and sighs, remembering the epic hissy fit she had thrown last fall when her fathers had the heating and ventilation systems redone. Bitterly, she remembers the graphs she had created, charting the average summer temperature in Lima over the last 30 years--a mere 81 degrees Fahrenheit. She can still remember the salient points from the carefully crafted five page essay, extolling the virtues of a reduction in their carbon footprint. _Days._ She had spent _days_ arguing with her fathers before she had finally won her point. Their entire house is now air-conditioning free. _Consider the earth saved_ she thinks sourly.

And now with finals starting tomorrow, she can't even think about sleep because it's still 95 degrees at 10:30 at night. She glares at the fan on the bedside table, but even at it's highest setting it merely pushes the hot air around. The only bright spot is that she's avoiding any recriminations from her fathers as they are at a week-long conference in Chicago. Naturally at a hotel with air-conditioning. Arrggh!

Her phone beeps as a text arrives and she briefly considers if it is worth the effort to move all the way to her desk. She's still weighing the pros and cons when the tone sounds again and the reluctantly unsticks herself and stalks over to the phone. Her stomach flips a little as she reads the display: two messages from Noah. She opens the first.

***come out***

Shrugging, she opens the second. ***cmon B, ur home, so come out***

She quickly crosses to her window and sure enough, there he is, arms crossed, leaning against his truck, looking like he always does. Which is to say really, really good, because he works out and take care of himself, which she can respect. Absolutely. He lifts his chin to nod at her and she bites her bottom lip before texting back:

***it's a school night***

It occurs to her as she pushes send that this is not exactly a resounding "no", but he seems to take it as such because he pushes off the side of the truck to leave. She's certainly a little _surprised_ when he gives up so easily, but the heavy feeling in her throat is absolutely not disappointment. And it most definitely isn't excitement she feels when instead of driving off, he strides up the walkway to her door. Pulse racing a little bit (she should be careful about standing up too quickly in this heat), she checks herself in the mirror, wrinkling her nose at the tank top and cotton pajama shorts. She considers putting something else on, but she can't bear the thought of adding another layer in this heat and besides he's already at the door and she doesn't want to be rude. He'll just have to deal, she thinks as she makes her way down the stairs and opens the front door.

He looks her up and down. "Nice duckies," he says, staring at the print on her shorts.

Her eyes narrow and she starts to close the door, but he brushes past her and starts heading up the stairs.

"Noah...," she squeaks after him, "Where are you going? I don't know what you think you're doing here, but I can assure you..."

"Chill out, Berry. This isn't a booty call," he says as he enters her room and heads straight for her dresser, pulling the top drawer open. Which happens to be her underwear drawer. She reaches around him and slams it shut, almost catching his fingers. He smirks a little, reaching for the next drawer, ignoring her indignant gasp. "Fuck, Berry. Don't you own a single black t-shirt? Wait. Here we go." He twitches out an appropriate shirt from the color coordinated stack and she grabs it from him, automatically.

Glaring, she inserts herself between him and her dresser, resolved to protect her wardrobe from his depredations. He looks her straight in the eyes and leans in a little bit and she's holding her breath as he places one hand on each side of her, boxing her in. Smiling, he pulls the next drawer open, smacking her in the butt. "Got dark pants?" he asks, "we're kinda in a hurry."

She gives him a little shove and he moves back easily enough. "I'm not about to go out and _knock over _a 7-11 with you, Noah Puckerman," she hisses.

"I was thinking maybe a liquor store," he says smoothly. Her eyes widen and he groans. "Kidding. Look, it's like a million degrees out and we've got to motor, so just do me a favor and get dressed. I'll have you home by midnight, Cinderella."

His mouth is as changeable and tricky as ever, but he's asking for something with his eyes and she remembers (not that she's likely to forget) that it's only been two weeks. Two weeks since his daughter was born and even though he's back in school and she sees him, speaks to him, it's like he's not there. He might as well be sleepwalking.

Her eyes drop first.

"Fine," she mumbles, although she abhors inarticulation. She selects a pair of black yoga pants and goes into her bathroom to change. When she comes out, he's looking around, picking up a photo in a frame, running a finger along her school books, like he's never seen her room before, although she's fairly confident that he hasn't forgotten that he's been here before. Or the circumstances of his most recent visit.

They don't say much in the truck. She's content for the moment to simply let the air from the open window move over her and watch him from under her lashes. He's driving with one relaxed hand on the wheel, the other resting on the driver's side window. As the lights from the streetlights chase over his face she tries to read his expression. Not happiness certainly, but the hard lines are smoothed away for the moment. At a red light he looks at her, lifts one eyebrow and she just stares right back. He may have caught her off guard at the house, but he shouldn't think he's going to have it all his own way.

They're on the outskirts of town now. He flicks off his headlights as he pulls onto a service road just past the golf course. Parking behind a copse of trees, he grasps her wrist, pulling her gently out the drivers side door, shutting it quietly. He walks over to the fence surrounding the course, pulls back a loose panel and ducks through. Rachel is still mentally trying to place trespassing on a list of transgressions that Noah has either involved her in or suggested. (Clearly below armed robbery, but a step up from skipping school.) His head pops back through the fence. "Let's go," he says urgently. Just because she's curious and for no other reason, she goes.

The air is slightly cooler here and although the moonlight has bleached the colors of the grass and trees to shades of charcoal, it could be considered romantic if you like that sort of thing. However even if Noah were so inclined, she can't really see him putting this much effort into a random hook-up.

"What are we doing here, Noah? I don't even like golf," she says finally.

He flashes her a smile as he leads her onto the closest putting green. "Here. Sit," he says, flopping down onto the ground, lying back on his elbows.

Her mouth opens in disbelief. Where to start? Going through her drawers, making her change, dragging her out to a _golf course_ practically in the _middle of the night_ in order to sit on the grass? She's shocked out of her mental diatribe momentarily when he reaches out a hand to pull her down next to him. "Just wait," he murmurs.

And in the next moment she knows _exactly_ what to lead off with when she starts screaming, because from all around them a whirring noise sounds and the automated sprinkler system starts spraying. They're both soaked in what seems like seconds. There is no questions in her mind that as soon as she's done yelling at him, she's going to murder him with her bare, wet hands.

Except. Except it actually feels really good, because she's immediately about 20 degrees cooler and for the first time all day she doesn't want to chop all her hair off or move to Antarctica. He's flat on his back just letting it rain down on him, eyes closed, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

It's obvious he's done this before and however he discovered this (she's willing to bet he wasn't off playing golf by himself at night), Rachel begins to wonder if this is his version of sharing something special with her. _Later_, she decides, _later_ she'll take that idea and turn it over in her mind, try to tease out all the possible shades of meaning. But for now, she'll just enjoy it, the chill washing over her, all mixed in with the pleasurable shock of being near him, like a spoonful of lemon sorbet sliding down her throat. By degrees, she sinks back onto the grass next to him, closing her eyes and concentrating on the feeling of the individual water droplets on her skin.

As suddenly as it started, the water cuts off again.

She's in no real hurry to move, to do anything and without the hiss of the sprinklers, it's quiet, only the distant hum of the highway and the chirp of the occasional cricket to break the silence. It's almost a shock when he speaks.

"Kickass, right?," he asks with his customary bravado, but when she turns her head to looks at him, she can't read his expression.

"I'm sopping wet, miles from home and it's getting later by the minute," she says tartly, but watching his gaze shift away, she immediately relents, "but yes, surprisingly, that actually was, as you describe it: _kickass_."

He grins and his voice is full of satisfaction as he says, "Damn right!"

She pushes herself to seated position and trails her fingers through the short, wet grass.

"You never told me what had you so up in the air that day," he asks idly.

"What day?" she asks, and then flushes, remembering. "_Oh..._"

"Yeah, that day" he says, his voice even.

He sits up himself, and the movement brings him closer so that their shoulders are almost touching and Rachel wants to lean into him, or touch his arm, but she doesn't know how he'd respond or even how she wants him to respond. Although, she admits to herself, that last bit probably isn't true.

But he's still waiting for her to answer, so she describes the summer program, surely in more detail than he has any interest in knowing but she hasn't told anyone at school yet, has been holding it in for _weeks_. She may be making an unfair assumption, but she really doesn't want to hear Kurt and Mercedes bitch, or bore the rest of them.

Besides, she wanted to tell Noah first.

"Sounds cool. Sounds perfect for you, actually. You gonna be gone all summer?" He's not looking at her.

"No, only the last three weeks of July."

"Okay."

She waits for more. Is it 'Okay, I'm glad you won't be gone all summer' or 'Okay, maybe I'll run into you in sometime in between cleaning pools, _if you know what I mean' _or some other okay entirely?

And this? What is this exactly? She knows what it means when Finn offers her a ride or when Jesse goes halfsies on sheet music, but she's _alone_ with Noah _in the dark_, and _yes_, she does feel the need to refer back to the fact that she's _soaking_ _wet._

(So much for trying to interpret this later.)

She'd done her level best not to interfere with his relationship with Quinn (granted: mixed success on that point). She didn't chase him through the school, didn't push him to talk when it was clear that he was hurting. She's been patient for all the right reasons, but this right here, right now, is his doing. _He_ showed up on _her_ doorstep (again).

So does he need a friend? Does he want to talk? Is it unreasonable to wonder whether thisis a date?

She thinks it's _something_.

"All right, Berry. Let's get the hell out of here."

Or not.

She makes one-sided conversation automatically on the short walk back to the truck but falls silent when he grips her elbow lightly to guide her through the hole in the fence. She shivers, which is odd, because to the best of her knowledge, the elbow is not an acknowledged erogenous zone. He frowns, lopes ahead to the truck and pulls a towel out of his gym bag.

"Wanna get out of those wet clothes?"

Ah, yes. Now they're on familiar ground. She rolls her eyes and grabs the towel, rubbing her hair briskly and then peeking out from underneath it. "What are we doing here, Noah?" she asks doubtfully, "I seem to recall you saying that this wasn't a booty call."

"You could persuade me," he suggests, taking a step closer. "Usually you're pretty good at that."

She recognizes this move. He's deflecting.

It's working.

He reaches over and gently drapes the towel over her shoulders, one of his hands gripping each end, and slowly pulls her closer. His kiss is so soft, so unhurried; even so, her head is in the clouds, she's losing focus. She almost doesn't notice his hands, fingertips trailing up and down her sides, the delicacy of his touch paralleled by the chills spreading across her skin. He smiles against her mouth and whispers something about sharing body heat and then she's pressed up against him and wherever their bodies touch _is_ heat, even through wet clothes. He spins her around and against door of the truck and she yelps as the door handle digs into her back. He pulls away slightly, murmuring "sorry baby," as his hand slides up the back of her shirt to rub tenderly.

The shock is enough, though, to clear her head and she regretfully pushes him back a step. "No, really Noah. Why here? Why tonight? _Why me? _If you wanted company, why not Matt or Mike?"

"I can think of a reason or two." The hand still splayed on her back tightens to bring her closer, but she braces one hand against his chest.

"Be serious. If you just wanted to hook up, why not someone easier?" she asks, genuinely curious, then she flashes back to her actions at Regionals and is suddenly horrified. "You _do _know easier girls, right Noah?"

"Berry, _all_ the girls I know are easier than you."

Hmmph. That doesn't actually make her feel better and she glares at him.

He exhales. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"No."

Leaning in against her (now that's just _unfair_) he reaches through the truck window, flips down his visor and pulls out a photo. "This came in the mail today."

She takes it carefully and looks down at Noah's daughter, pinker and rounder than the last time Rachel had seen her, cradled in a pair of arms. Her eyes are closed, but she has Noah's mouth, the exact shape and her hair is dark, like his.

He's moved next to her, slouching against the truck, speaking out into the open air rather than to her. "They're going to send them from time to time. The pictures, I mean. And hell, I don't know, stuff about how big she gets and what she's doing."

Rachel holds her breath and moves her thumb carefully back and forth along the edge of the photo as he continues.

"They're going to hear her first words and see her first steps and I'm going to get a _picture_. So whatever, I was just driving around for a while and shit, I ended up at your house."

She drifts towards to him, almost unconsciously, so slightly that their arms barely touch.

"Fuck," he bursts out, "I don't even know why I'm fucking talking about this! I just needed..." and he breaks off.

_A distraction_, she wonders and his head turns and his eyes meet hers. His expression is open, unguarded, in a way that she's only seen a few times, certainly not since his daughter was born and possibly not since she broke up with him on the bleachers. And then like a door closing, he's on one side and she's on the other.

"Yeah, a distraction," he straightens, pulling away from her as he does.

Shoot. Did she say that out loud?

He kisses her briefly on the lips. "Come on Cinderella, let's get you home before you turn into a pumpkin. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll distract you some more another time."

His voice is half-tired, half-teasing, and that's not at all unusual. So why does she have the feeling that she's missed something?

She's going to have to do something about that.


	9. Within Your Reach

**A/N: Don't own Glee, just borrowing. Thanks so much for the reviews!**

*****

He decides it's fucking stupid to be pissed about it.

So this whole thing is just a distraction. He's a distraction. So what? He's been worse. It's not like his dick cares.

Seriously, it's not like he brought her out here to start anything, (he's almost completely sure that's true) so all this, her wet, cool lips, soft skin heating up under his hands, all that enthusiasm--bonus, right?

Feelings just complicate shit, especially when he knows with just a little convincing, a gentle push, he could probably distract her right out of her clothes. He knows it better than she does, how close they are, how easy it is to fall, even (especially) when you aren't expecting it.

It's all there in his head in an instant, how it could be.

So he kisses her, which makes sense and then he starts talking which doesn't and then he takes her straight home, which is unexpected. He watches her walk to her door, unlock it, and for a moment she's framed by the light of the open doorway, waving shyly at him. And his hands are tightening on the steering wheel because _what the hell_?

He wakes up in the middle of the night with the taste of her still fresh in his mouth and all he can figure out is he wants more...just more. And he's always been the king of less, you know, easy come, easy go. (Yeah, that's so literal.) Shit, there's a few cougars, he doesn't know their first name and some of them even like that. But her? He groans.

He doesn't even know what 'more' means. But he can admit he wants to get it.

(This is not a conversation he needs to be having with himself at 2:00 A.M.)

He sleeps for shit and the next morning he feels like hell when Sarah runs shrieking into his room. "Noah! There's a girl for you!"

_Rachel_, he thinks stupidly.

He throws a t-shirt on and yanks up some jeans. And yeah, he almost falls down the stairs, but that's because there's a freaking doll convention on the landing, not because he's hurrying--he doesn't hurry for anyone, not even a hot-as-fuck fellow Jew.

No Rachel in the living room or the hall. He checks the front porch because Sarah once locked Santana out there for an hour or so. Funny shit. Then he hears his mother's voice in the kitchen and winces. No question, he's a bad ass, but fuck, there's a few things he'd prefer his mother didn't know about and Rachel's got no filter.

He skids to a halt in the kitchen and there's still no damn Rachel, so he glares accusingly at the brat who looks back at him innocently over a bowl of cereal. His mother (hell, she looks tired and he knows that's his doing) looks up at him, surprised. "I sent your sister to wake you, but I didn't expect to see you up so quickly."

"Morning Ma," he says as he kisses her cheek and pours himself some cereal, making sure to shove heavily into the brat's chair as he slumps into his own.

"Noah, your phone has been beeping like crazy this morning." His mother points to his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He fishes for it in his pocket and nothing, but it sounds for another incoming text and there it is, in Sarah's grubby little hands.

"I tooooold you! Some _girl_ is sending you messages! Who's _Rachel_? Is she your _girlfriend_?" she says in a sing-songy undertone, just quietly enough not to be overheard by their mother.

There's a short, violent and totally silent fight under the table, but come on, of course he's going to win, even if she does cheat. (Pointy little elbows.)

"Eat your cereal, monster," he tells her, finally snatching his phone from her grasp. He ignores her pout because her shit stopped working on him years ago. "And mind your own fucking business," he adds in the menacing whisper that makes freshmen piss themselves. Of course, she's completely unfazed because his shit doesn't really work on her either, but whatever, he's busy checking his display. Rachel's sent him seven messages in the last 15 minutes and he's smiling, even if he doesn't know if that's good or bad or just Rachel getting her crazy on. He opens the first one.

***Hello Noah, I just wanted to make sure that you are aware that Mr. Potvin's Chemistry final was moved ahead from 10:00 to 9:00 today.***

He checks the display: 8:17. Plenty of time. Next message.

***I'm sure you know this as it was announced on Friday, but Finn is here at school and he's been complaining quite vocally and I know the two of you have class together.***

***Not that I'm stalking you or anyone else (that rumor is wholly unfounded) but I do have your schedule committed to memory because of my duties as Glee captain,...***

***...as I explained to the registrar when I insisted on having everyone's schedule printed out for my file, although I actually already knew your schedule because of the slushies.***

***Please disregard that last text as you've already apologized for that and even if we weren't friends before, we've grown much closer in the intervening months,***

***And I'm not saying that just because you kissed me last night.***

***Please disregard that last text as well***

By the time he's read through the last one, he's actually laughing as he texts back ***ur talking alot. do I make u nervous, b?***

***Sometimes.***

Awesome.

***ur last exam 2day?*  
**  
***English Literature from 1 to 3 P.M.***

***cu then?***

She texts back a smiley face and he laughs again and looks up to see his mother and sister staring at him. "What?" he mumbles. His sister's spoon is still half way to her mouth. He snaps the phone shut, shrugs, and eats his breakfast.

*****

He's in the hallway outside Rachel's classroom at 3:05 wishing she'd hurry the fuck up because it's way awkward standing around with Mercedes who apparently is waiting for Kurt. They aren't on the best terms anyway, what with her take on the whole baby-daddy drama. Besides, put her together with Kurt and you've got a perfect storm of bitchiness, mostly aimed directly at Rachel. More than once he's asked Rachel if she wants him to revisit Hummel's current dumpster immunity (there's not much he can do to Mercedes, even though she's clearly more of a man than Hummel will ever be). She always says no, but he's pretty sure she enjoys the visual.

Finally Kurt walks out. "Sorry I'm late, Sweetie," he says, air kissing Mercedes' cheek, "but Queen B is putting on another show. I swear, I should sell tickets!"

Puck frowns at the pair of them as Mercedes lets out an annoyed huff. "What is it this time?"

"She's arguing with Mrs. Bredon about extra credit."

"Girl's got straight A's. What more does she want? Another trophy?

Kurt giggles. (What the hell is he? A six year old girl?) "That's the best part. It's not for her, it's for Brittany. She's arguing that the list of Glee songs Brittany turned in is a metaphorical interpretation of the Mark Twain essay. I left just before she threatened to call the ACLU."

Mercedes rolls her eyes. "The ACLU _again_? She is _so_ annoying."

"I know!" says Kurt enthusiastically. "What does she even think that's going to get her?"

Big picture? He's heard worse from them. This isn't even their 'A' game. But you know what? He's pretty fucking sick of the way they all use her and then dump on her.

_So asshole, why don't you do something about it?_

"Both of you should just shut the hell up."

Kurt looks like he just fell face first into pussy and Mercedes' eyes flash dangerously. "You did_ not_ just say that to me."

Fuck them. "Yeah, I did. You're both hypocrites. Hey Hummel, who was in Figgins' office when the tires on your Navigator got slashed? Think those security cams in the parking lot would be up without her? And Aretha," he turns to Mercedes, "when Sylvester tried to get you banned from singing the National Anthem at games who took her on? Maybe you should try for a little gratitude, because you sure as hell aren't complaining when Berry does anything for you."

They look, he doesn't know, maybe a little guilty, certainly surprised, but then Kurt is lifting one eyebrow and he feels a small hand on his arm. Rachel.

"Well that's certainly a novel way of trying to get into her pants," says Kurt in a bored tone. "Mercedes, lets take our leave. I've got a massage scheduled for 4:00."

Puck doesn't move, but the hand on his arm tightens a little. "Come on Berry," he says, "Just one dumpster trip. It won't take long."

"Oh that is so tempting," she says longingly and his eyes swing to hers in shock and he swears they're fucking _twinkling_. "Just kidding. Mostly." She looks down at her feet and then up at him, "Thank you for defending me."

"No big deal," he says casually, although most of his attention is still focused on the press of her warm hand on his forearm.

"It is to me," she says matter-of-factly. "I don't have a lot of people standing up for me."

She drops her hand (he suppresses the urge to grab it back) and starts walking down the hallway, smiling at him over her shoulder in a way that makes his stomach flip a little and he takes a few long steps to catch up with her.

Her smile has faded a little bit. "Noah," she asks, one hand smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her skirt, "in general, the easiest way to get information is to be straightforward. So is this just a ride? Or did you want to do something together?"

Do something together? Is pressing her up against the lockers and kissing her until she forgets her own name out? Probably.

He clears his throat. "We never got to see that movie the other week at your place."

He loves, fucking _loves_, putting that smile on her face.

And then he's congratulating himself because he remembers that Finn left _'Shaun of the Dead'_ stuffed behind the seat in his truck (and between one thing and another, he never really got around to returning it). As a plan it may not deserve the Nobel prize for getting play, but pretty girl, scary movie; it's fucking classic. And they aren't far in before she squeaks and buries her head in his shoulder and he tucks her under his arm. Even better, by the end of the movie, she's pretty much on his lap and he's got one hand on her leg, flirting aimlessly with the hem of her skirt.

Nice_._

When the credits roll, she twists to look at him and her face is so mischievous that he's a little taken aback until he figures it out.

Son of a bitch. He's been played.

"You weren't scared at all, were you?"

"Shaun's lack of even a shred of ambition was a little horrifying," she says seriously. "But no," and she's grinning now, "not really."

"You little..._actress_!" He can't help grinning back. "And what was all this about?" he asks, sliding his hand to her waist and then brushing her backside, still perched on his leg.

Now they're getting to the heart of it because he's been watching her for a while, and as far as he knows there's never been _anything _she's wanted that she hasn't gone after whole-heartedly. It's good (it's a fucking relief, that's what it is) to get some more confirmation that she wants at least _this_.

There's a little color in her cheeks, but she's still meeting his eyes. "Well, in general, I'd agree it's a bit of a cliche, but I like to take advantage of my opportunities," she says, tilting her head up at him and it's effortless to bring his lips to hers and take advantage of a few opportunities of his own.

It gets hot, fast, just like last night, just like every other time, and she's into it, she really is, and God knows he is. But he can read it through the lines of her body under his hands, a hint of tension, a slight hesitation, and without really thinking about it, he's dialling back. He kisses her temple, nuzzles the spot behind her ear, and then gently pushes her off his lap (absolutely too much of a good thing), but keeps his arm slung loosely around her shoulder.

"All right Rach, you can choose the next movie."

She makes him watch some black and white about a private detective chasing around a bird statue and when he complains (just to wind her up, because it's actually not so bad) she smirks and says he deserves it for trying to scare her. He almost tackles her back against the sofa again, but _slow_, he reminds himself.

So yeah. He's never done 'more,' never wanted to hang around to find out. 'More' apparently means _really fucking slow_. Whatever. He's in.

*****

**A/N: I don't own 'Shaun of the Dead' and as a side note, unlike Rachel, I personally find Shaun's fecklessness charming. I also do not own 'The Maltese Falcon.' Additionally, Brittany totally deserves the extra-credit--she's trying to tell the story of Puckleberry Finn!**


	10. Kick Drum Heart

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! Thanks so much for all the support!**

**

* * *

**He gets up to go after the second movie. It's probably not a coincidence that it's about three minutes after she mentions that her fathers will be back within the hour, but she doesn't really mind, in fact she's surprisingly calm about the uncertain status of their relationship.

Possibly she should be more concerned than she is. After all, they've engaged in activities that include kissing for _two consecutive days_ which clearly means under the dating rules of engagement that they have some kind of _thing_ going on. (Or does it? Kurt would probably know but for obvious reasons, she'd prefer not to ask.)

She's Rachel Berry, she's _not_ casual. She plans her romantic entanglements out in advance, fits everything into her five year plan, weighs the pros and cons of every action.

He's Noah Puckerman. He doesn't.

She's on the verge of entering some sort of arrangement with _Noah Puckerman_ and instead of worrying about whether this is true love or just another iteration of friends with benefits, she's daydreaming about what the benefits might be. (Sometimes it's hard to think about anything else; she can say with complete certainty that they'd be very, _very_ good.)

Truth be told, as odd as it might seem? She trusts him. So maybe she can just take a deep breathe and see where this takes her.

They linger for a few minutes on the front steps, talking quietly. "I'll call you," he promises, and her heart skips a beat in time with the slow rub of his thumb on the inside of her wrist. She leans against the door frame as she watches him drive off. Then she runs upstairs.

(She'll just jot a few tiny questions down in her relationship notebook and they can deal with them as they occur.)

* * *

That night, she records _'What a Girl Wants'_ for her MySpace page. Fifteen minutes after she posts it, he calls her.

"Nice song."

"Thank you. While her body of work may be characterized by showy pop hooks and somewhat gratuitous nudity, Christina Aguilera's vocal talent is...""Seriously babe, you really aren't getting my point. I know you remember." His voice dips down into a lower register and she sits down heavily and a wave of _something _is rushing through her. (All right, it's most likely pure lust.)

Because with that, just those words and his voice, she's instantly six months back, wearing a skirt that's never seemed shorter and singing into her hairbrush, about to spend a fall afternoon tumbling around on her bed with him. The one she's currently sitting on because she's not sure her legs will support her.

"I remember," she manages finally, her voice almost unrecognizable to herself.

But he certainly recognizes something in it and there's a hint of a groan in his reply. "I should totally come back over."

"My dads are home now," she says a little breathlessly.

"You've got a trellis."

There's a pause as she remembers the last time he made use of her trellis.

He's thinking about it too. "Yeah, about that Rach," he says, "I was kind of fucked up that day. I shouldn't have dumped all that shit on you."

"I was...I was quite concerned at the time, but I was glad you came over, glad you called me." _Glad that you came to me. _

She hears her father calling from downstairs. "Noah, I have to go. Daddy taped Dad's keynote address and they want me to watch it. And then I think there's a slide show."

"Wild night," he laughs.

"They missed me," she says sheepishly.

It's a little ridiculous, but she sleeps with the phone on her pillow that night.

* * *

They see each other in bits and pieces through the rest of exam week. She'd like it to be more, but she takes her studies seriously and she's noticed that he's carrying around a book or two as well.

On Tuesday he kisses her at an empty study carrel in the library, tucked behind the old A.V. equipment. His hands run practiced circles along the curve of her hip, sliding over her blouse along her rib cage and back again until her hands are clutching the hem of his shirt.

Later, she has to close her eyes and breathe in sharply through her nose when Mr. Schuester's Spanish exam has her conjugating 'to want'. She turns surreptitiously back to glance at him, (next row over, three seats back) and he's staring. _Yo quiero, tu quieres, nosotros queremos..._

On Wednesday night, he's babysitting, so she brings over ice-cream and spreads her biology flash-cards all over the living room floor. Sarah is sitting on the stairs, watching in fascination as he rubs a lock of her hair between his fingers gently while Rachel leans against his legs.

He's ruthless about forcing Sarah to go to bed by 8:00, ignoring "Noah, it's not even _dark_ yet!" Fifteen minutes later after an assortment of threats from both sides of Sarah's bedroom door, he comes back downstairs and a few minutes after that he's laid out on the couch and she's moving against him, flushed and almost panting. And then his hands are stilling her hips and she pulls back to look at him doubtfully, but he's just as flushed and just as breathless.

Driving home later, she's admits to herself that she's confused. She's not stupid and she has a thorough grounding in human anatomy. When she's pressed up against him, she can tell he's wants her. But then he pulls back. And her experience with him (granted only a week, all those months ago) leads her to expect a certain set of behaviors. But there's no '_come on baby, it'll feel so good_,' and it's not a flurry of _hands_ and _mouths_ and _now_, even if the expression in his eyes makes her squirm.

It's more than a little frustrating, this restraint, when she thinks she's ready to have a few mysteries revealed.

On Thursday when Mr. Schue walks in they are having lunch together in the practice room, even though Puck's finished with his exams for the day and she doesn't have Biology until 2:00. He has his guitar out and they're talking about music, laughing back and forth and arguing over the merits of their favorite vocalists and he's threatening (promising?) to sing _'Let's Get_ _It On' _to her again.

The teacher's eyes eyes travel back and forth between the two of them curiously and Rachel can feel herself stiffen a little. It's certainly not a compromising position, no clothing is removed or even askew, they aren't even touching, except his left knee and her right since they're leaning in towards each other. Even so, it feels intimate, it feels like exposure, like he caught the two of them kissing. She tilts her chin questioningly at him and presses her knee just a fraction of an inch closer to Noah.

"Hello you two," Mr. Schue says as he advances to the piano and gathers a stack of sheet music. He spots Rachel's lunch box, tucked neatly by her feet. "Ahh, lunch I see. Well actually I'm glad I ran into you, Puck. Everyone else has confirmed for the Glee barbecue at my new place tomorrow night. I'll be grilling up some burgers and dogs and Artie said something about his mom's potato salad and I'm sure you don't want to miss Rachel's delicious cookies." He grins at Rachel and she smiles back weakly as Noah chokes back a snort. "I've even got one of those portable fire pits, so we can roast marshmallows and sing around the fire. Bring your guitar."

Now it's Rachel's turn to hide a grin at Noah's pained expression as she looks up at him through her eyelashes. "It's almost like you think sing-a-longs aren't badass, Noah," she says sweetly.

His quick glare promises retribution but he simply rubs the back of his head with one hand and mumbles, "Yeah Mr. Schue, in general I'm in favor of anything that can be cooked over a flame, but that campfire girl shit is just not on."

"No excuses Puck," Mr. Schue says, cheerfully ignoring the profanity as he heads towards the door. "Rachel, as Glee captain, I expect you to make sure he's there. I'm looking forward to getting the whole team together--I even spoke to Quinn's mother and she's coming too!" With that, he gives them a quick wave and exits the room.

It's not surprising, the silence that follows that, nor she supposes, thinking about it later, that she's the one who breaks it.

"I didn't know that Quinn was back home," she says, watching his hands trace soundless chords on the neck of his guitar.

"I haven't seen her since the lawyer's office. But, no baby, no reason not to be, right?" His voice is level, but he won't meet her eyes.

He leans away from her and puts his guitar back in the case and she shivers a bit despite the warmth of the day. Turning back, he presses a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth and then whispers into her ear, "I should go, babe."

She smiles up at him, just like everything is fine.

It's not.

In part it's her, of course. She's absurdly sensitive to being shut out. Despite her best efforts, it's there in the background a little bit. Jesse whispering 'merely adequate' and Finn valuing his reputation over her. Santana, half-friendly and half-mocking when she advises Rachel to hold on by spreading her legs, and blonde, perfect Quinn, both a rival and a cautionary tale.

Mostly though, it's not fine because he's not fine and she can't do anything about it.

He doesn't look back until he's got one foot out the door. "About the barbecue, Rach? I don't know right now. Call me when you get out of dance tonight?"

She nods and he smiles crookedly at her and disappears.

* * *

She meets him on the way home at the 7-11 (and don't think the irony of that doesn't strike her). She tells her fathers that dance class is running late, but that's only going to buy her a half hour or so. At some point, she's going to have to come clean about Noah with them. _Or become a better liar,_ she thinks guiltily. They make out in his truck, his hand chasing across her knee, her thigh, skin pale in the fluorescent glow of the street light slanting in through the window. They don't talk about Mr. Schue's party. Or about anything at all.

* * *

She unbuckles her seat belt and leans across to kiss Dad's cheek, carefully balancing the tray of cookies.

"What time do you want me to pick you up sweetheart?" he asks fondly.

She hesitates. "I may be able to get a ride. Can I call you?"

"Of course," he says and she can hear the happiness in his voice, maybe mixed with relief. Her lack of a social life hasn't gone unnoticed. (At least they've stopped asking after Finn.)

It's an effort, but so familiar she hardly registers it, to straighten her spine, fix her social smile on her face and ring Mr. Schuester's doorbell.

Ms. Pillsbury answers the door, looking as precise and neat as always in a flowered apron, but is that a smudge of chocolate on her lower lip? Mr. Schuester walks out of the kitchen with a mixing bowl of brownie batter and a matching smudge on his mouth. "Emma, is this ready...Rachel! Prompt as always! Artie's already here and I'm sure the rest of the kids will be here soon." He peers out the door over her shoulder for a moment as if expecting them to appear on the steps behind her and then leads them to the living room, where Artie is waiting. "I just have a few things to finish up in the kitchen and you two can get the party started!"

"Woo," Artie pumps his fist skyward and Rachel smiles in polite appreciation.

The two adults start out of the room when Ms. Pillsbury blurts out, "Oh, Will, you've got just a little bit of chocolate on your lip." She reaches a hand up and Mr. Schuester smiles fatuously, "You too." They drift in and dab at each other, giggling, before disappearing.

"Oh my," says Rachel, wincing, "that's just...how long?"

"Since I've been here anyway," he says gloomily. "Don't get me wrong, I'm all for love, but where's the dignity?"

They've run out of conversation for moment. Rachel has the greatest respect for Artie's talent, but she knows he thinks she's some kind of diva, (mostly because he says it only slightly under his breath every third practice) and she has it under excellent authority that he's called her 'trout mouth.' What? Is she not allowed to hold the _teeniest, tiniest_ _grudge_? Still, as silence isn't exactly her metier, she casts about in her mind for a topic of conversation.

"So Rachel, is Puck coming tonight?"

Not really what she had in mind, although she's not entirely surprised. Kurt is nothing if not an dedicated purveyor of gossip related to all things Glee and Noah's defense of her was probably considered newsworthy.

Still, the prudent answer is the easiest. "I really don't know." Especially since it's the absolute truth. "Why do you ask?"

"He asked me something about a summer job a few months ago." Artie shrugs delicately. "After every thing that's happened, I wasn't sure if he'd still be interested."

Rachel makes a noncommittal noise, but she's definitely curious. As far as she knows, Puck will be cleaning pools and...actually, they should discuss his summer plans as soon as possible.

Tina and Mercedes and Kurt appear and Tina throws herself on Artie's lap (Rachel notices wryly that he isn't complaining about public displays of affection now).

"Rachel! Let's talk!" Kurt attempts to pull her into a corner and who knows, probably extract information by threatening her with tweezers, hot wax and hair product, when Brittany and Santana arrive and effortlessly extract her.

(What has the world come to when she's profoundly grateful for the arrival of the Cheerios?)

Things are much more enjoyable when the rest of them (almost) filter in, although Kurt is still regarding her with the kind of curious light in his eyes that makes her think uncomfortably of Jacob Ben Israel. Artie plays guitar, Finn uses cooking utensils to bang out a rhythm on every possible surface, and Mr. Schue unexpectedly pulls out a ukulele and plucks a tune. Tina and Mercedes compete to see how long they can hold a note. And when Santana and Britt rush to the door to greet a newly arrived Quinn, Matt and Mike pull her into the center of the room and they dance together and she's having _fun,_ even though she realizes he's probably not coming. (But she can't help hoping. It's her nature to be hopeful.)

And then Mike and Matt are looking over her head and grinning and Mike spins her out just a little harder than necessary and she collides with a nicely muscled wall and an arm snakes around her waist. _Noah_.

"Nice catch, man," Mike smirks and Matt is regarding them like a benevolent uncle. Clearly the gossip chain at McKinley is ridiculously good.

Noah rolls his eyes at the two of them, but tightens his arm around her and murmurs, "Hey baby," into her ear as the rest of them look on with varying degrees of interest.

Rachel mentally ticks _'inform everyone of the fact that the two of then are very much back on'_

off her to do list.

****

**A/N: _Yo quiero, tu quieres, nosotros queremos... _I want, you want, we want. Apropos, no?**


	11. It Could Be Sweet

**A/N: This is now my most alerted and reviewed story! Thank you so much, I love all of you!!! **

**Also: I don't own Glee or there would be more Puckleberry and Matt would get a line. Which reminds me, I'm just going to start making up stuff about Matt because I have such love for him (and Mike). **

* * *

He's standing around pretending to clean out his locker (thank fuck school is _finally_ out) but actually he's watching Rachel. Not in creepy way, it's just that she's standing outside the practice room talking with Santana and he's thinking about casually edging closer to make sure than San isn't threatening her. Or saying stuff about him. Or you know, propositioning her for a hot three-way with Britt.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" says a voice in his ear.

It startles him and he jumps (Mike and his stupid ninja dance skills). "What the fuck, Chang?"

Mike is staring at Rachel too. "Secret hook-ups? With Rachel?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." This thing with Rachel isn't a secret. Not really. It's just sort of private, like it's just about two of them.

Mike scoffs. "You. Her. The back of the library on Tuesday."

He raises an eyebrow. "Stalking me, Chang? Didn't know you cared."

"Whatever dude. Maria Jimenez has the key to the AV room and Matt saw the two of you."

Figures. For someone who almost never opens his mouth, Rutherford gets a lot of play.

"Look," Mike continues, "Rachel's a nice girl who's had a tough year and she doesn't deserve to be dicked around."

Well, it's about time someone figured that out.

But shit, that'd better be just _friendly_ concern in Mike's voice and he's suddenly suppressing a jolt of panic. Which is crazy, right, because Rachel is totally hot for his ass. Crazy or not, it blows his brain to mouth filter.

"What if I'm not," he blurts out. _Fuck, man, get a grip._ "What if I'm not just dicking her around?"

Mike stares at him, surprised, "I guess I'd say good for you. And then I'd say you should take it public because Hummel's already starting to talk."

Puck groans. "Of course he is."

Mike nods. "Hell yeah, of course he is. And if you don't want Rachel to look like another one of your 24 hour viruses, you should do something about it."

Kind of obvious when you put it that way. Besides, it's no hardship to show the pricks looking at her legs that they should back the hell off.

He turns back towards Rachel, but she's gone. "Shit. Vocal lessons, 3 to 5," he says. (That crazy cat calendar she gave Finn actually looks a lot less weird when you take her schedule into account.)

"So? You'll see her at Schue's party tonight," Mike shrugs and then after a few beats, "You are going, right?"

Good question, but Puck doesn't have an answer so he watches Mike walk off muttering something like '_dumbass_' and he can't argue.

It's not the girly singing--he's not a complete jackass--and it isn't even that he could think of a hundred better things to do with Rachel (or _to_ Rachel) on a Friday night.

He's just not sure who he's going to see when he looks at Quinn's face.

* * *

He sitting around in the parking lot of the 7-11, (_again..._he's got to get the fuck out of Lima) when it finally hits him: who the hell is he kidding? He's going to end up at her place anyway, because that's where he always ends up when he's upset, (even though he was stupid enough to pretend he didn't know that for a while). So you know, why not just man the fuck up and save them both some trouble?

* * *

Rachel's smile? Totally worth it.

A while later he catches Quinn's eye and they nod at each other a little stiffly and it's..._okay_. And yes, at least part of that is because Rachel's arm is brushing his every time she gestures (and since she's talking to Schue about plans for Glee next year, that's a lot). Whatever. She's cute (no wait, fuck, _hot_) when she's enthusiastic.

But also with Quinn it's easier because she looks like her old self. Not the broken girl from the lawyer's office, not the sad girl in the hallway asking him to leave her alone, not the girl with the anger matching his, standing a little too close, trailing an half-empty wine cooler bottle down his side. She's cool, composed, hair pulled back in that Cheerio ponytail. She'll be back in a uniform by pre-season and if he were Santana, he'd be watching his back.

And the part of her that's his daughter's face? Well, he's just going to have to learn to live with it. (At least now he knows he can.)

The rest of the party doesn't suck.

Obviously, there's no booze, but it turns out the evening is amusing enough even without it. Schue tries and fails to light a fire, and then he lets Matt loose with the lighter fluid. Puck's already moving back a few feet and pulling Rachel with him: Rutherford's a total pyro, even by his standards. Hummel's standing too close and almost loses his eyebrows, which is funny. Rachel's never had s'mores before-- "Noah, have you ever _read _the ingredient label on a bag of marshmallows!"--but he's so awesome he gets her to try one anyway. And Finn unbends enough to voluntarily exchange a few words with him, none of which are 'fuck' or 'you', so it looks like the Rachel thing is going to go over all right with him. (Not that it would be a deal breaker, not even close.) He even manages to get that phone number from Artie.

So yeah, he's mellow enough to use the guitar that Schue thrusts into his hands and if he gives the rest of the Gleeks the finger, so what. If he wants to play for his girl, he fucking will.

Summer's not going to be so bad.

* * *

Actually, it's pretty good for a while.

First, the job is a few steps up from cleaning pools. Obviously, there's less eye-candy involved (just as well, even without sex, Rachel is about all he can handle), but working construction for Artie's uncle means that the pay is steady even if it is under the table. Actually, more than that, he's good at it, he likes it, even that crappy _lift this, carry that_ shit that they start him out on the first few days before they figure out that he actually knows one end of the hammer from the other.

But damn, he's working so hard that the first day it's all he can to do after work to shower and then head over to Rachel's place to crash on her couch and drink her lemonade (the real kind with lemons). Surprisingly, it works in his favor because it's also the first time he meets her dads. They're home unexpectedly early from a day-long seminar and he's on the couch sleeping through _'South Pacific'_ instead of with his head under her skirt. Fathers tend not to like that. (Just ask Mr. Lopez.)

They cook him dinner and he's waiting for the inquisition, but Rachel handles it.

"Noah is an extremely accomplished singer and musician within our Glee club," she says beaming at him with that thousand watt smile.

He smiles back a little weakly and moves her hand off his knee because there's no reason to tempt fate even though there's no actual sign of the _'fuck my daughter and I'll break you in two' _look.

"He's an excellent athlete," she trills and the hand is back, "and he helped me study for my biology exam."

Sure, if by _'help study'_ you mean tried to avoid standing on her flashcards while maneuvering her back onto the couch, then yeah, he helped her study.

But between that and the way he can't stop eating their food, (seriously, they're beaming as he piles on seconds) and then they're asking him some questions about sports--Michael played high school hoops and Ben loves baseball--it turns out that they kind of like him. Well, shit. Unexpected.

He figures the least he can do is, you know, not actively think about despoiling their daughter while sitting at their table. Which would be a lot easier if her warm little hand wasn't tracing circles on his leg about six inches south of his dick.

It's kind of a theme for the evening.

After dinner, Rachel takes him upstairs, shuts her door and pushes him up against it. She looks up at him through her lashes and smiles (_fuck,_ it's sexy).

"I'm glad you came over tonight," she says huskily and then he is too, _really glad_, because she take his hand in her own and slides it up her shirt. Which, _fuck_, pretty much blows his mind especially since she doesn't break eye contact and he's watching her pupils dilate as he gently traces over the lace of her bra and then underneath, plucking at her nipple, feeling it tighten under his fingers.

She arches into him and he skates his other hand up, slowly skimming her stomach and then the curve of her breast before gliding to the small of her back, watching her eyes flutter shut. She inhales, a shuddering breath, and he's hard, so fucking hard, but she's so fucking gorgeous that it's almost enough just to watch her.

And then she touches him, first gripping lightly on the waistband of his jeans, then hesitantly dipping her fingers under to brush along his hip, his lower back. She presses into him, moving just right, but so lightly that he wonders if she's aware of it. Her tongue flashes out to wet her upper lip and the sight of it sends a shiver down his spine and he has to kiss her, this second, or he thinks he's going to die.

So he kisses them both breathless, capturing her little moans in his mouth as he rolls her nipple gently between finger and thumb, losing track of time or of everything but that hot little mouth and the feel of her skin under his hands. Unfortunately, the tiny, tiny portion of his brain that isn't currently grinding on her hip is slowly but surely making itself heard. Her dads are downstairs. Even putting everything else aside, this is not going to end with him buried between her thighs.

He pulls back a little unwillingly, moves his hands to her waist and groans out, "baby," against her hair.

"That was nice," she says softly, burying her face between his neck and collarbone.

"Nice?" he complains, tickling her sides.

She reaches up and cups his face in her hands. "Maybe a little more than nice."

"You bet your sweet ass."

She takes a step back and smooths her skirt down. "I think that this might be the perfect time to discuss some of the facets of our relationship."

Oh fuck. Kill him now. At least this should take care of the wood he's got going on.

"In particular, our sexual relationship."

Or not.

"Obviously, open communication is key and it's recently occurred to me that you might be taking my relative lack of experience as reluctance to experiment, to expand and grow."

Well yeah, maybe a little. Until she just went and stuck his hand on her boob.

"So I took the liberty of creating a series of lists for you," she says, crossing to her desk and handing him a stack of pink papers. And he just knows he's got that stupid smile on his face because_ of course_ she did; this girl loves her organizational tools.

"The first page represents things that we've already done or that I'm fully comfortable with. Or perhaps 'enthusiastic about' is a better phrase."

She _looks_ enthusiastic, bright-eyed and bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. He'd appreciate it more but he's too busy trying to skim through, wondering if that list is as long as it looks. 

_It is._

"The second page, here," she twitches at the appropriate page, "These are negotiables, that given the right set of circumstances we might explore," She tilts her head and smiles encouragingly at him. Like he needs it.

She continues, "The things listed on the final page are the things that I'm currently not ready for. Of course, this is subject to change, and I would expect that some of the items from page three and two might move to page two or one respectively, so possibly we should schedule a regular time to review."

Right. Review. Whatever. His brain is stuck on the fact that Rachel Berry has a sex list.

"Also, I should say that I've done a fair amount of research, really the internet is so helpful..."

Would it be a pussy move to _beg_ to be there the next time she does research? Probably. Does he care? Hell no.

"...but if you feel there's anything I've missed, we certainly can place it on one of the lists. However, I should warn you that if I've never heard of it, it's probably going to go on the third page, although I wouldn't want to make a hard and fast rule about that." She frowns a little bit. "I've also been working on the assumption that you are interested in all these activities, so Noah, I do need _some _feedback here."

He blinks in surprise, because really he's just thinking about ways to get her to say 'hard and fast' again. But you know, mind on the essentials.

"Oh baby, you are _so_ fucking hot," he breathes, gripping her hips and walking her backwards towards the bed. (He fucking loves that bed.) "I've got an hour. Let's see if we can't knock a few things off page one."

* * *

He's the one who fucks things up. _Naturally._ No question, though, she's overreacting--and she'd know that if she'd even talk to him. Shit. Sometimes he just doesn't understand what the hell she wants from him.

* * *

Her dads drag her off to Cleveland for the weekend to visit her Grandmother, which doubly blows, because A: date night (fuck you, date night equals action) and B: it's their last weekend before she does her summer thing in Chicago. And it's boring as shit with nothing but his X-box and his right hand for company, so when Matt calls to find out if he's going to Reynolds' party, he figures why not. Reynolds is a fucking prick but his loser older brother is home from college and free beer is free beer.

It's almost not worth it because Rutherford's off chasing Maria Jimenez as soon as they get there, but he knocks back a few, and then a few more and he's got a nice buzz going and he's not thinking about much of anything.

Not a problem. Because as fucking awesome as this thing with Rachel is, he's got a list of things he's _not _interested in thinking about, starting with his kid calling some douche lawyer in Columbus _'Daddy'_. And ending with the fact that this is the first summer he can remember that he hasn't spent sitting around doing shit-all with Finn.

Even if the last year hadn't been so fucked up (yeah, mostly his fault) Finn's not here. Working at some Lutheran summer camp in Minnesota, probably teaching kids how to make friendship bracelets right now. He hopes the camp has good insurance or figures out not to let Finn near the canoes or campfires damn quick. He'd laugh because _honestly_? Duluth is the furthest away Finn could get? Except where the fuck is he? Working 12 hour days on a construction site in downtown Lima. It's way too easy to believe that this is what his life is going to be like.

Only it's fucking surreal too, because Rachel is exploding through his life like a roman candle.

_Great_, now he's in a crowded room with Berry on his mind, which _is_ kind of a problem. (He's always been a horny drunk.) And it's not like he has the best reaction time going on. So when Katie Dawes throws herself onto his lap and starts trying to suck his face off, it takes him a few seconds to get up to speed. But a few seconds, that's it, and then she's sprawled on her ass and he's out the door to the sound of catcalls. He doesn't even bother trying to find Rutherford, just walks.

When he gets home, he texts Rachel.

***miss u***

It's late, so he's a little surprised when she texts right back. ***That's so sweet! I miss you as well.***

***u still awake?***

***Yes. More slide shows, unfortunately. Did you and Matt enjoy the party?***

He hesitates, finally keying in:** *boring w/out u babe***

It's not really a lie, right, just to leave out something that was _totally_ not his fault? He'll tell her about it on Sunday.

And he really means to. Except when Rachel gets out of the car and sees him waiting for her on her porch she runs up to him and throws her arms around his neck and kisses him and then drags him inside, and somehow it doesn't come up.

When he leaves that night she opens her email (he pieces this together later) and there are about thirty messages from various McKinley assholes, _all_ with a photo of Katie _fucking_ Dawes attacking his face.

Which maybe was not the best way to find out, even if this time, for once in his life, he didn't do anything wrong.

Fuck.


	12. Misguided Angel

**A/N: Don't own. Thanks to all!**

* * *

Rachel comes home from dance on Wednesday evening with the same persistent pain that she's been stubbornly identifying as a headache since Sunday night.

She slips into the house quietly. Dad is home and she doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to lie. She hasn't told them about Noah, but they must be wondering; the way he suddenly isn't around, the way her phone is (_was_) ringing constantly, but she won't answer it. It's curious, this instinct for secrecy, but maybe not. She never told them about the slushies either.

Not that crushed ice and corn syrup are a perfect comparison. She's almost nauseated remembering her fingers trembling on the keyboard as she forwarded each and every one of those awful messages to Noah. _This is so much worse_.

Never mind. She's going to take a bath, get some reading done (she's working her way through the required reading list for next year), and then possibly prepare a yet another selection for her Myspace page. Her medley of depressing break-up songs is obviously an on-going project. Last night's rendition of Jeff Buckley's _The Last Goodbye_ had been very well received and she has her fans to consider after all.

Santana Lopez is not the last person she expected to see sitting on her bed. But close. She and Santana have developed a mutual respect for each other over the past few months, but she's not a friend.

"Santana, how did you get in here?" she asks baldly. She doesn't mean to seem unwelcoming, but it doesn't exactly take six degrees of separation to get from Santana to Puck and whether she's there to gossip or gloat, Rachel's not up for it.

"Relax, Rachel. Your dad let me in. _Very_ cute by the way," Santana drawls.

Rachel's not biting--she recognizes this move, Santana does her best work when she's throwing people off balance. "Daddy thinks so," she responds, crossing to her desk and straightening her collection of post-it notes. "What is it I can do for you?"

"Some idiot upset Brittany this afternoon and since she's babysitting her cat, here I am."

Rachel nods cautiously because upsetting Brittany is a mistake not too many people make twice. At least not around Santana.

"They sent her a picture of Puck and Katie Dawes at Scott Reynolds' party Saturday night and she's convinced that you're here crying your eyes out. I tried to tell her that you aren't stupid enough to think that after having this," and she draws her fingertips along her side, then clearly as an afterthought, "and _you _obviously, that Puck's going to go slumming with a bitch that I _personally_ kicked off the Cheerios for being too much of a slut."

Rachel can't help it. She hasn't cried all day, she's been relentlessly cheerful, but at Santana's words, she can feel her bottom lip tremble and her voice is absurdly pitchy as she babbles, "Well. As you can see, no crying here. Please thank Brittany..." and she spins around, not wanting Santana to see the silly tear sliding down her cheek.

"Oh god, Britt owes me the biggest orgasm of my life," Santana mutters and then she feels an arm around her shoulder and Santana is pulling her into an awkward hug. "I can't believe it. You actually_ are_ that stupid."

Is this Santana's version of comforting?

She gives Rachel a little shake. "Rachel, I was there, and by there I mean in the room. The little tramp jumped him and totally laid one on him and he just dropped her on the ground. Bitch was on her ass in under three seconds. I haven't laughed so hard in weeks."

Rachel feels odd little pinpricks running through her, like blood rushing back to her extremities.

Santana continues thoughtfully, "I was impressed actually. Puck _is_ a horny drunk, but then you know that." When Rachel's eyes widen she smirks, "or you will."

"If it was so innocent why didn't he tell me about it? He had plenty of opportunities," Rachel asks shakily.

"I don't know. Puck's a moron," Santana shrugs, "maybe he thought he could get away with it. Ask him."

"But..."

"No really, _ask him_," Santana rolls her eyes and tosses her ponytail over her shoulder, "because I have definitely reached my caring quota for like, the month. Later." And with that, she's out of the room.

Rachel is pacing, filled with nervous energy, thoughts whirling, because she wants_ everything, _immediately. (She always does.) She needs a plan but even chart paper and fresh pencils may not be able to quiet her agitation. It's a lot to take in.

1: Noah didn't cheat on her. Not even a little.

(She underlines this. And then adds a few hearts and stars.)

2: But he also didn't tell her about it. Why not?

2a: Is it such a common occurrence that he didn't think it merited a mention?

(Because that brings it's own particular set of problems)

2b: Is it a question of trust? Did he think she wouldn't believe him?

(She would have..._right?_ Although he might have an excuse now to think that she wouldn't. After all, she refused to speak with him on Sunday night _or _Monday _or_ Tuesday.)

2c: Somehow, this isn't a new worry. It's not the first time he's neglected to tell her something.

(She's been thinking about it, about Quinn's pregnancy, for a while. Maybe since she found out for sure. Would he have told her?)

3: And all this may not matter because he hasn't called or texted her all day.

(He should have told her. But she needs to make the next move.)

Still, it takes her a while, staring at her phone, considering different openings, trying to predict his possible responses. Finally she texts him (she's just too nervous to call). ***I'd like to talk.* **

She only needs to wait a moment for his response. ***about wut***

Not a promising start. ***In person. Please.***

***open ur door***

She flies down the stairs and wrenches the door open and he's on the doorstep holding a slushie, with a straw tucked behind his ear.

"It's grape," he says, pushing it and the straw towards her.

She takes it automatically and then says stupidly, "you're here."

"You wouldn't take my calls," he says and it hurts to see him because he looks tired and his eyes are wary. (She wonders what he sees when he looks at her.)

Suddenly, she's shy, wishing she had given in to her impulse to make note-cards for this conversation, even though she's found it makes people uncomfortable. She leads him silently to the den and busies herself finding a coaster for her drink, trying to gather her courage.

"Noah," she starts, but he interrupts, digging his hands into his pockets and frowning.

"Forget it. We are _not_ breaking up over stupid shit like this. I know what that picture looked like, but it wasn't like that at all."

"Noah, I...," she tries to interject.

"And absolutely, I'm a fucking prick because I should have told you about it, but I was...I didn't want...." He grinds to a stop and he's tight, like an over-wound guitar string, and she can see in his face and his body all the same hurt that she's felt over the past few days.

"Noah," she says for the third time, "I just wish you had told me...finding out that way was..." (More painful than anything with Finn, much more than with Jesse and she needs to push that thought away, because it's scaring her, how vulnerable she is to him.)

"Baby, I'm sorry," he says quietly, looking at the floor.

And then, because he seems to need it, and something in her does too, she reaches for him, trailing her fingers down his forearm and then curling them around his wrist. "I don't want to break up. Can we please just sit down?"

She's close, staring down at the hand she's pulled out of his pocket. He leans into her a little, saying "yeah" into her hair and tangling his fingers in hers.

She pulls him over to the couch and they sit down together. He's squeezing her hand almost painfully tight. "Rach, listen. Katie Dawes...one minute I'm thinking about you and the next she's all over me, but fuck, I swear...."

"I know. Santana told me. Apparently, she found the whole scene quite amusing."

"She would," he says darkly.

She glances up at him, but he's looking down, absently rubbing his thumb against her knuckles. "Noah, you've apologized to me, but I think I owe you an apology as well. I should have known...or at least I should have listened to you when you tried to explain."

His eyes flick up to hers in surprise. "Shit. Why the hell would you? You know my reputation."

"I should have listened," she says stubbornly, "I know you."

"Rach, Rachel...." he lets out a breath that's almost a sigh and buries his hands in her hair, combing through it carefully before tucking a few stray curls behind her ears. Then he leans towards her and kisses her so softly, so sweetly, that she thinks her heart might burst.

The sound of a throat clearing makes them pull apart and Rachel pinkens slightly. "Hi dad. I'm back from dance."

Dad raises one eyebrow. "Yes Rachel, I can see that. Hello Noah, nice to see you again. Are you joining us for dinner?"

"Uhmmm, sure. I'd love to," Noah says, a little uncomfortably.

"Excellent." He casts a look at Rachel. "Sweetie, I'll need your help in the kitchen. Let's say in about five minutes?"

"All right dad," she smiles. Dad retreats to the kitchen and Noah tightens his arms around her. "Shit, your dads are going to hate me."

"They like you. I like you," she says, riveted as a slow smile spreads across his face.

"Course you do, baby. I'm fucking irresistible." He gently pushes her to a standing position. "Now let's go help make dinner before you get me killed."

* * *

After dinner she walks him to his truck, both aware that the porch light is most definitely on.

"We good?" he asks, a shadow of earlier worry passing over his face.

"Of course," she says, but she's biting her lip, because it's still there in the back of her head.

"What?" he asks, searching her face.

She hesitates, draws the toe of her shoe along the pavement. "It's just that I want whatever this is between us to be real. I want us to be honest with one another. And it's in the past and possibly it's unwise to dwell on it, but I can't help wondering. Were you ever going to tell me about Quinn and the baby? Say we didn't break up that day? Would you have told me?"

His face shutters and she can't help worrying that she's said too much (again) and the silence stretches between them.

Finally, he sighs, "I don't know. I'd like to say I would have. But shit Rach, you had one foot out the door the entire time. I probably wasn't going to give you a reason to dump my ass faster."

"Is that what you thought?"

He shifts restlessly. "Kind of. You kicked me to the curb when we were making out with some leading man bullshit and then the whole football thing. You were so quick to give me an out, I figured maybe you wanted one."

Maybe it's true. That girl, the one on the bleachers might have been looking for something else, wanting what was over the rainbow or chasing after some white rabbit_._ Something fictional anyway.

"It's different now," she assures him and he's kissing her again, not the gentle kisses from before, this is harder and with a hint of something (_anxiety? hurt?)_ that twists inside her. She runs her hands along his arms soothingly, curling up against his warmth, until she can feel the tension leave his body.

The porch lights flicker and she pulls away reluctantly, opening her eyes to meet his. He's looking at her seriously. "It's different," he agrees.

* * *

Friday afternoon Rachel is at the grocery store purchasing a few last minute toiletries. She leave for Chicago bright and early tomorrow morning and honestly, between the program and her reconciliation with Noah, she's not sure how her fathers have managed to put up with her giddiness over the last 48 hours. ("Long, long experience," Daddy says lovingly.)

Matt is bagging groceries and she smiles at him, pleased when he smiles back. She's seen him here several times, but they've never exchanged more than a quick hello so she's surprised when he shoots a quick glance at his manager and asks, "Carry your groceries out to your car?"

She's about to politely decline--she doesn't need help carrying travel size toothpaste--when it occurs to her that perhaps he wants to talk to her. Of course then she thinks she's probably wrong because he carries her tiny shopping bag in complete silence all the way through the parking lot. (It feels like a friendly silence though.)

"Thank you Matt," she says at the car, reaching for the bag, but he holds on.

"I've known Puck since 7th grade," Matt says in his deep, quiet voice. "Guy is kind of a dick. True fact. But you know, less so when he's with you, like by a lot. Thought you should know."

He hands over her toothpaste and grins and this is easily the most he's ever voluntarily said to her. She wonders if this means that they're friends now. She thinks maybe it does.

* * *

Chicago. Chicago is exhilarating, all consuming, even occasionally grueling and she loves it. She's immersed in music theory and vocal technique and in addition, students are expected to participate in at least two ensemble groups while they are there as well as prepare a solo number for possible inclusion in the final performance. The guest lecturers are amazing: serious artists who love what they do and have unflinchingly high expectations. There are no life lessons here, no favorites, and everything from the very fact of their admission to the smallest solo is awarded strictly on merit.

And at last she's among like-minded peers, people who are just as ambitious and determined and possibly even as talented as she is. Friendships are still a little tricky, but most of the friction seems to center around access to the practice rooms and she _gets_ that, she _understands_ it. It's not like walking around McKinley waiting to be blindsided by whatever social solecism they've decided to find her guilty of that day. No one here expects her to be humble or modest or less than what she is.

It's not for everyone, though. Three days in, her roommate leaves in tears after her first performance review. Rachel's not entirely surprised (she's straining on the top notes). Not that Rachel's said anything. (She doesn't have to! The faculty actually takes care of that! Which is probably helpful on the friendship front!)

Basically between her studies and rehearsals and her forays into social acceptance, Rachel barely has time to breathe. It turns out that there's still more than enough time to miss him. Like when he sends her a photo of his bicep (***IKU miss the guns babe***). Or when he mails her a 'kick ass' music mix and slips a little Marvin Gaye in. Or when he answers her call late at night and not only listens to her obsess about potential song selections but actually offers constructive feedback. (And then asks what she's wearing, but that's kind of nice too.)

* * *

She doesn't even think twice. He's the first person she calls when she finds out.

"_Noah!_ NoahNoahNoah!"

"Fuck, Rach...breathe!"

"I've got it! They've chosen me! I'm doing the final solo for Friday's performance! Do you know what that means? It's the sweet spot, the finale, the show stopper!"

"Well yeah, babe. Who the hell else would get it? You were always going to blow them all away."

And clearly it's the excitement, or the moment, or just the sound of his easy rumble in her ear, but suddenly she has to bite it back and her breath is catching because she almost _said it_, and she doesn't know if she's ready to _feel it_, much less _say it_.

"Rachel? You still there?"

"I'm here," she says, her voice low.

"Don't go sounding like that," he groans. "When are you coming home again?"

"Saturday night. Why? Any plans?"

"With you? _Lots._ Just wait. So when's the big show?"

"Friday at 7:00."

"Your dads must be excited to see you perform."

"They're both presenting at a conference in Madison. They'll be here in time for closing ceremonies on Saturday. It's a shame of course, but it'll be filmed and I've already arranged to get a copy."

"Cool. Get me one too. Listen baby, I gotta go. We're cutting it tight to the deadline on this project and the head contractor is being a pain in the ass."

And she almost says it again, when she's saying goodbye. She tells herself she's not sure what's going on.

* * *

By Friday afternoon with an hour to kill before dress rehearsal, she's living on the surface of the skin and her yogic breathing exercises aren't cutting it. Reading, herbal tea and a brisk walk are discarded just as quickly. Rachel is seriously considering going back to the performance venue to check out the lighting again, but the tech crew made their feelings about that perfectly clear.

(Rachel can take a hint. If it's obvious enough.)

Noah's call comes just at the right time.

"Hey Rach. You freaking out yet?"

"I'll have you know I'm perfectly composed," she lies.

She can almost feel him smiling over the line. "Sure you are. Look, where are you?"

"In Chicago," she says blankly.

"No baby, where are you on campus? I'm parked somewhere off the performing arts center, but this place is fucking huge."

All those butterflies are out of her stomach and dissolving through her like sugar crystals melting on her tongue. She's happy. And it feels just right.


	13. True Fine Love

**A/N: Sorry about the wait. Thank you again to all the wonderful readers and reviewers! Also, just wanted to warn you that I think that the end of this chapter may be pushing the boundaries of the "T" rating. To be honest, I'm not really sure where that line is. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

It takes him all of three seconds to decide to go to Chicago. Fuck, if he's maybe in love with her or something, he might as well do it right.

Yeah, he's officially in his head upgraded this from just a thing to a thing where having all these _feelings_ doesn't make him break into a cold sweat. (Much.) Truthfully, he's thinking about her most of the time and not just the obvious stuff like her boobs (even more awesome now that he's got regular access). No, he's thinking about how he likes hanging out with her, even just sitting around doing nothing and how she makes him laugh. Or sometimes it sneaks into his head; how she always seems to be there when he needs her and how she believes in him.

Things were a fuck-load simpler when he didn't do this emotional crap. But all the same he's kind of happy. It's freaky.

Looking back he's not sure when it happened although clearly it's somewhere in between that first slushie making her white blouse go pink and transparent (yes, he sucks) and the horrifying moment when he opens those stupid emails and realizes that he's fucked it all up.

At least he knows when he finally figured it out. Or had it brought to his attention, anyway. That went down during the shit couple of days when it seemed like she wasn't going to forgive him.

* * *

It's been two days since it fell apart (not permanently, can't be, he's not even going to think like that) and Matt and Mike are wiping the floor with his ass in Halo. Which, fuck them, he's got a lot on his mind, okay? For starters, totally bullshit people keep calling him, people he doesn't even care about, like newbie Cheerios and bored housewives (seriously is his name on _a list_ or something?). There's even some fuckers from basketball trying to set up a pick-up game, which normally, he's be up for, but shit, do they have to keep _calling? _They're tying up the line.

Not that is matters all that much. The one person he wants to call thinks he's a cheating bastard and he's beginning to suspect that his plan to get her back-calling her every half-hour-may not get him the results he wants.

So you know, he's pissed at himself, and god knows he doesn't do disappointment well, but Chang can fuck himself. _Sulking_ his ass.

"Rachel?" Matt asks finally.

He shrugs irritably, then mumbles, "She's not even talking to me."

Matt nods. "Easy come, easy go. Too high maintenance for you bro," he says, stuffing his mouth with chips, but he's watching Puck narrowly.

Mike chimes in, "She _is_ a little dramatic. Making kind of a big deal out of nothing, right?"

Puck glares at the two of them. "You can both piss off, I shoulda told her and watch your fucking mouths about my girlfriend." _That's right. Girlfriend. Suck it, you dicks._

Mike and Matt are exchanging glances and he's looking at them uneasily, because he's obviously missing something.

"Well, if you're all in love with her, nothing more to be said," Matt grins.

"What? Shut up!" he sputters weakly. _Wait. Hold on. Shit. Really?_

"Except maybe what are you going to do about it, dumbass?" Mike says cheerfully, throwing the game controller at his head, ending the conversation.

Fuck if he knows. But hell, he's good at making stuff up as he goes along.

* * *

So anyway, Chicago, the finale, this is a big deal and she deserves to have someone there just for her. And since he's not really close to being able to say anything (face it, she's not going to be impressed with _'hey sexy, I think I'm sort of, kinda, whatever..._') he can show her instead.

Screw work, he's been doing enough overtime, they owe him a day off and he'll tell his mother he's going camping, even bring a sleeping bag to throw her off. Which, hell, might come in handy if he ends up sleeping on Rachel's floor, or worse, in the cab of his truck.

But possibly not. The roommate's gone (might have had something to do with _'Ain't Nothing Gonna Break My Stride'_ at six AM_,_ but he's not saying anything). And no dads which is key because as nice as they are to him, they don't really leave the two of them alone for more than half an hour. He hasn't figured out whether that's really naive of them ('cause he could totally get both of them off in that time frame) or really smart ('cause the first time he makes Rachel lose her shit is going to be perfect, like hours long, full on Puckerone perfect).

That's pretty much what he's thinking about the entire time he's cooling his heels outside the performing arts center waiting for her. Give him a night alone with her? Even on a dorm room bed, he could totally rock her world. You know, if she wanted him to. The thing is? Fuck, he'd never, _never_ tell _anyone _this, it'd be shit for the rep, but he could be good with just holding her. It'd be kind of cool to have her sleep next to him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her. Waking up with her.

Not that he'd turn down a blowjob or anything else of that nature _at all_, because he's guessing she'd nail that performance like she does everything else-his girl's a perfectionist. Fuck, he's got a pulse. _And _a dick for that matter.

And then she's there, throwing her arms around him and making happy little squeaks in between kisses and questions that she doesn't give him time to answer. Finally, she's just looking at him with his face in between her hands and he's never seen her look so happy and he knows he's got a stupid smile on his face but it doesn't matter.

He thinks that at some point he could tell her. And not just about the sleeping thing.

* * *

He sits in the audience that night and her voice reaches out and grabs him by the throat and just won't let him go. It would be _easy_ to love her for that alone. _Fuck._ _Shut up Puckerman._

* * *

The after-party is this weird combination of college party and karaoke night. They're in some kind of university function room and there are the red plastic cups, even if they're only filled with coke and there's music all around even if it's not blasting out of someone's speaker, because they're all playing and singing and of course Rachel's in the thick of it. Last year it probably would have screwed with his head but a year in show choir, not to mention dating Rachel, has conditioned him to expect people to randomly break into song.

The whole thing is really just supposed to be for the program students, but some of the early arriving college kids are crashing, so they both figure he can too. It's fun watching her charm the crowd, the other kids fluttering around her. She's laughing with them and there's lots of hugging (he's keeping his eye on the guys because those artsy bastards can get handsy-just look at the Vocal Adrenaline dick).

He's got one arm slung around her shoulder, fingers brushing her upper arm, pulling her into him, when a group of girls whirl her away to sing something. He joins the circle forming around them as they start harmonizing and Rachel is smiling wickedly at him. And although he misses a good portion of the lyrics watching the swivel of her hips, he's pretty sure from what he does catch that this is the dirtiest thing he's ever had the pleasure of hearing come out of her mouth.

No question. He'll be revisiting the image of Rachel Berry's hot little ass swaying to "_Tonight I'mma let you be a rider, Giddy up, Giddy up, Giddy up, babe"_. Frequently.

They only get through two verses before collapsing into giggles, which, probably good that's over because he really doesn't need to put on any more of a show. A few (okay more than a few) of the girls are already giving him the eye and he's a little worried because his _'I'm taken'_ vibe is rusty. _Or maybe non-existent,_ he thinks, as he turns to glare at the chick groping his ass.

And then there's some dude all up in his space, not a high-school guy, one of the music major assistants. _Again_, he's really got to work on that _'taken'_ thing, but then the guy opens his mouth.

"So, you know Rachel," he says cooly.

Okay, not playing for Hummel's team. Tool's trying to make time with Rachel.

"Oh yeah," Puck smiles lazily at Rachel across the room, watches her blush as one of the girls whispers something into her ear. "We're tight."

"But you are a student here, right? Because only students should be at this event."

He shrugs. "I've been recruited to play football. Pre-season started this week."

"We have a football team?"

Fucker. They must, right?

"Of course," Rachel says brightly from behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Go Maroons."

Course they do. She probably googled it. A good cover story is essential.

"So you two are actually together?" the jerk questions, and he's _not _digging the disbelief.

Puck drops a kiss on the top of her head and asks, "You got some kind of issue?"

Douche laughs and throws up his hands in mock surrender, "It's just a little surprising, that's all. You don't seem like her type. Still," he continues lightheartedly, "that's what high school romance is all about."

Excellent. That attitude? Obviously doesn't know shit about Rachel.

Rachel smiles sweetly, dangerously. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"I just think in college you'll find it natural to gravitate towards people you have more in common with."

Rachel opens her mouth and Puck can't curb a nasty grin. He loves this part. You know, when it's happening to someone else.

"Really Lawrence, you don't know me well enough to make that kind of judgement and you don't know Noah at all. He's kind, thoughtful and intelligent as well as being a gifted musician." Her voice is rising and the crowd is starting to gather.

Poor fucker tries to save face, falling back on a scoffing, "musician?"

Puck could have told him something about adding fuel to the fire, but nah. Too much fun.

"Are you questioning his badassness?" she demands.

Except, shit, now she's smiling at him with a gleam in her eyes and he absolutely knows that look. He is in serious trouble.

"Baby. No, no and no. No way," he whispers, but it's too late, with a quick request, she's borrowed a guitar and pushed it into his hands.

Okay, he owes her. For general fuckheadedness. For all the slushies. For putting rotten eggs in her mail box, although he's pretty sure she doesn't know that one was him. Doesn't matter_._ Point is: after this they are _so_ even.

That said, he didn't plan on this kind of audience, but he actually has something ready-been working on it since she left. (The shit this girl gets him to do without even trying.) He picks out the opening sequence, lets his voice deepen, go a little rough-just the way she likes it-and sings.

_Hey where did we go,  
Days when the rains came  
Down in the hollow,  
Playin' a new game,  
Laughing and a running hey, hey  
Skipping and a jumping  
In the misty morning fog with  
Our hearts a thumpin' and you  
My brown eyed girl,  
You my brown eyed girl. _

He's got her smiling and breathless and it's just like it was all those months and months ago; the rest of the room fades away and she's right there with him.

_Whatever happened  
To Tuesday and so slow  
Going down the old mine  
With a transistor radio  
Standing in the sunlight laughing,  
Hiding behind a rainbow's wall,  
Slipping and sliding  
All along the water fall, with you  
My brown eyed girl,  
You my brown eyed girl._

He's been telling himself for weeks that he knows what this is all about. That there's no faster way to Rachel's panties than through music. True, but complete bullshit all the same. It's always more than that. He can't imagine not wanting more with her.

_So hard to find my way,  
Now that I'm all on my own.  
I saw you just the other day,  
My how you have grown,  
Cast my memory back there, Lord  
Sometime I'm overcome thinking 'bout  
Making love in the green grass  
Behind the stadium with you  
My brown eyed girl  
You my brown eyed_ _girl_

See, she's always talking about this in Glee-about that moment when the music is really speaking for you and you just can't help being the truest version of yourself. And he always thought it was kinda the girly shit she's morally obligated to spout, like about violence not being the answer or weed killing brain cells. Or even if true, then something to avoid, because who the hell wants to share _that_ with the world. Hell, some days he doesn't even want to look in the mirror. But with this song he's laid himself open to her, he can feel it. The adrenaline is pumping and he's suppressing a shake as he carefully hands the guitar back to it's owner and the silence making the room heavy isn't helping.

"_Jesus_." A chesty red head pipes up. "If you don't want him, Rachel, I'll be glad to take that off your hands."

"_Mine_," Rachel says, stepping forward to lay a hand on his arm, and it sounds light-hearted enough, but she is absolutely not fucking around. He should get her out of here. You know, just so she doesn't get into too much trouble if they all start fighting over him or something. Besides, he needs to kiss her _now_, needs to do something to drown out the triumphant roar, tamp down the rush before it gets away with him. S_he wants him._

So as soon as they can get away, he's dragging her back to her dorm room. They never actually had the conversation about where he was going to spend the night, but as she twines herself around him in the stairwell and she's breathing out '_mine_' against his ear again, he decides not to worry about it. She sounds like she's got some ideas.

They tumble into the room and he's busy kissing the spot behind her ear that makes her liquid, then her neck and along her collarbone, trying to keep his head together enough not to leave a mark although he'd really like to. So he's not really paying attention to her hands, except to notice that they feel really good against his skin. But he definitely starts paying attention when they trail south, tracing the outline of his erection through his jeans, palm flat and then pressing her thumb along the length, circling the head and it's just hard enough and he thrusts into her hand.

And yeah, she's done this before a little, touching him through his jeans or grinding against him in her room or the cab of his truck but they're alone _in a room with beds _and he knows that his moan is _loud_, echoing against the cinder block walls, easily drowning out the sound of his zipper. Zipper. _Fuck yes._

Everything else recedes.

He's got his face buried in her neck, feels her sharp inhale when there's no boxers, nothing but him, and her tiny hand grips him a bit tentatively. Pulling back, he meets her eyes, because if she's worried or not totally into it he'll stop this. _Shut up, he will._ Her dark eyes are wide, curious, her lips are parted. She takes one of his hands with her free hand and places it on top, her fingers still moving too slowly, too delicately over his length. She smiles up at him, soft and seductive and he can't fucking breathe because she's so much, she's everything and she doesn't even know it.

"Show me," she says. He manages to choke out "_oh baby_," and does.

* * *

He's having a really good dream. A familiar perfume, warm lips. Tongues touching, the tang of salt on skin. Making Rachel fall apart under his fingers. He's pretty sure he's had this dream before and it usually ends up with him waking up with his dick in his hand.

He's fighting it, wants to hold on to sleep as long as he can, but it's already dissolving and he opens his eyes to sunlight pouring in the windows, and Rachel curled around him like a question mark, one knee high on his thigh, arm thrown over his chest. The morning is looking _fucking _outstanding. Sort of matches last night, when he gave her the first (and second, and third) orgasm she'd ever had that wasn't self-administered. (He's _got_ to get her to go into that in more detail.)

It doesn't matter all that much that they didn't actually fuck. He's got a feeling that's on the horizon. Probably sooner rather than later. Watching the rise of her breasts under the sheet, he can admit that he's also okay with lots and lots of practice. So he slides his hand along her hip and around to the small of her back, his fingers tracing random patterns that he later recognizes as his own initials. Her eyes drift open and he swallows heavily because her hair is all tousled around her shoulders and her lips are are a little swollen and it's skin, skin, skin all the way down to the sheet and she's _perfect_.

"Hi beautiful," he finally finds his voice.

"Hi," she smiles sleepily and pulls him towards her for a kiss. And then another.

For a little while there it looks like _sooner_ might be in like the next five minutes or so. Until her damn phone rings.

She has to lean against him to get her phone out of her handbag and it presses her boobs up against his chest which, _fuck_, as awesome as it is, is not helping him resist the urge to throw her phone out the window.

She flops back into the pillows and picks up. "Hi Daddy," and fuck, the sheet's sliding down and she's not even covering up and it's probably a physical impossibility for him to drag his eyes away.

Until he hears the tiny note of panic in her voice. "Looking for a parking space? Five minutes?"

Suddenly she's scrambling out of bed and he'd really like to take a moment to appreciate the sight of her gorgeous ass, because he hadn't gotten nearly enough of a look last night (probably not enough time in the world to get sick of looking at her).

He's cut off by his backpack hitting him square in the chest. And then it hits him, _her dads_, so he moves his ass because he'd like to see hers again sometime before they both grow old. He's got his jeans pulled on (wincing a bit) and he's hunting around for his t-shirt when he looks up at her, and there she is, _in his shirt_, swimming in it really, and she's naked underneath it and before he knows what he's doing he's got her backed against the wall and his hands are chasing up her sides, and it's all heat and tongues.

She's pushing him back, but not too far, hands twisted in the waistband of his jeans. "Noah, this is _lovely_, but.."

He leans his forehead against hers. "Yeah, baby. I know. It's just this." He reaches out a careful hand to trace the hem of the shirt, brushing her accidentally at mid-thigh, trying to ignore her shiver because he's got to _leave_, not throw her back on the bed. "I like this. A lot."

"Do you need it back?" she asks worriedly.

_Fuck no._

"Keep it," he rumbles. He's got another one is his backpack. Probably.

He hesitates with one hand on the door handle. _Shit, Puckerman, keep it light. Now is not the time. _

Too bad his mouth isn't listening to his brain. "Love ya, Rach," he mumbles, his voice is dry and he can't look at her.

He rushes out of the room and down the hall and out the back door. Because he doesn't want to get her in trouble or anything.

He's not running away.

_Shut up._

He's not.

* * *

**A/N: Songs. "Rude Boy" by Rihanna and "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison**


	14. Never Tear Us Apart

**A/N: Finished! Thank you all so much for the wonderful support and encouragement, especially to all of you wonderful reviewers, and I do hope you enjoy the last chapter! **

**In case you are interested, I've started outlining a new P/R story, so watch this space!**

* * *

She's staring wide-eyed at the door wondering if she really heard that or if she's just trying to re-write her personal narrative again.

Who is she kidding? Even on her best day, that's not really something she could make up.

He does?

Because she never would have expected...maybe in a future sometime. (And when did she start thinking that his future and hers might intertwine? Before last night anyway.) And then of course he's out the door like a shot. Shirtless. In retrospect, perhaps not her best idea; she hopes he doesn't cause a riot crossing campus like that.

She's moving automatically, pulling a brush through her hair, selecting a pair of yoga pants, tying a loose knot in one corner of his t-shirt, so it doesn't look too ridiculously over sized. All familiar actions, tasks that do nothing to slow the rapid beat of her heart, or conversely, contradict the languor she still feels in her limbs, something relaxed, even loose, in the way she's carrying herself.

She's tugging the comforter into order, trying to ignore the tangle of sheets, when she hears Dad's quick knock, Daddy's voice in the hallway. Casting a final glance over the room, she sweeps the pair of lacy panties under the bed with one foot. _Noah's gorgeous, talented hands sliding them tantalizingly slowly down her thighs, his mouth moving to the places his hands leave behind, while she arches up against him..._and no! For heaven's sake, not now!

Opening the door, "Dad! Daddy! You're here! I didn't expect you..." _quite so early_ "...until the conference was over!"

"Pumpkin! Dad rescheduled his morning seminar. We just couldn't wait to see you! Surprised?"

"So surprised!" she manages.

As it turns out, the entire morning is a testament to her skills as an actress. She beams, offers hugs, talks excitedly (and she hopes coherently) of the program in general and the concert in particular. However, she's essentially in another world, functioning with a level of abstraction which is probably for the best, as when Dad asks teasingly if she's missed Noah.

She blinks twice, chasing away visions of her own hands eliciting moans, making him crazy, making him _hers_.

Then, biting her lip, she admits to it.

As happy as she is to see them (really, she_ is_), it's a relief to send them out on a tour of campus. She needs to finish packing. A shower is most definitely on the agenda as well. But she gives herself a moment to collapse back on her bed. She's _exhausted_. Also a little horrified to find that the grounds for that exhaustion causes a Puck-like smirk to slide over her features.

Or at least she should be horrified. Instead, she's burying her head into the pillow, trying to capture his spicy scent. Breathing in, she closes her eyes, and inevitably memories from the last 24 hours start bursting in rapid succession behind her eyelids.

The emotional high of seeing him waiting for her, the way his arms wrap around her tightly, the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile. Looking out at him as he leans back in his seat through dress rehearsal and then again at the performance; peeking from the wings, scanning the rows until she sees him and wondering at the strange mix of serenity and excitement flowing through her veins, like she's breathing a richer kind of air.

Her voice soaring out across the stage and to the audience, singing her heart out for everyone and for him.

His song just for her, and for a moment all she can see are his hands, familiar and sure on the guitar. Later, his whispered promises hot in her ear, telling her what she's doing to him, how she's making him feel, exactly what he wants to do to her when he spreads her out on that little twin bed.

This morning, his voice calling her beautiful, the way he looks at her letting her _know _it.

Events she'll _never_ be able to separate out into their individual components after this.

Finally, his hand on the door, eyes uncertain, making a move closer and just as quickly stepping away. Classic Puckerman. But this? She can't even blame him for freaking out. This was a _big_ move.

He loves her.

And part of the five year plan or not, she loves him too. Has loved him to know it since she saw him on the steps of the arts center yesterday and ran to him, her feet telling her what her head wasn't. Except it's been longer than that. She's beginning to think that maybe she started out liking the boy who became her friend despite himself and along the way found the man who ached to do his best for his daughter, who defended her and looked out for her and who let her do just the same for him.

Obviously, it's a lot to take in. Still, her next move seems clear-and with growing confidence she realizes that she doesn't even need chart paper to figure it out.

Pushing herself upright, she crosses to the closet, hauls out her suitcase and resumes packing, making a special note not to forget the panties under the bed. What is she going to do about the entire situation? Well, she's going to get through whatever she has to today and then she's going to go home and get her man. (Maybe she'll get Daddy to play some _Blondie_ on the way home.)

* * *

Brave words aside, even with Debbie Harry for back-up it's a little nerve racking.

She eats a light dinner, puts on her favorite (his favorite) skirt and waves to dad and daddy who smile back indulgently and tell her not to stay out too late. She decides not to mention that they haven't set a specific definition for 'too late.'

She drives past his house twice. Reconnaissance is a key part of any mission, although pretty much all she gleans is that his truck is in the driveway. It _is_ a tiny relief to see that he hasn't fled the state. (It's also possible that she's over-dramatizing the situation, but two texts during the day, one of which was '_hey_' and the other '_cu l8tr?_' don't tell her much about his state of mind.)

She's about to knock when the door flies open and she's almost run over by Noah's sister, closely followed by his mother. Sarah stares widely for a moment, tugs on her mother's sleeve and then squeals, "That's her! The one I was telling you about!"

Mrs. Puckerman's eyes widen. "The one you were telling me about? Rachel? Rachel Berry from Noah's glee club? _Rachel Berry from temple_?"

"Rachel! Noah's girlfriend," Sarah hisses in confirmation and blushing a little, Rachel opens her mouth to introduce herself but gets no further than, "Hello..." before she's pulled into a hug.

"Rachel, so nice to meet you! Your father Ben serves on the capital fund committee at the synagogue, doesn't he? He's always talking about his beautiful daughter. And I can certainly see why. Such a nice girl and so talented!"

"Thank you Mrs. Puckerman, that's..." Rachel says into the older woman's shoulder.

"Call me Leah, dear," she says, releasing Rachel from the hug, but maintaining a (firm) grip on Rachel's arm. "I can't imagine why Noah's been keeping you hidden away. But now that we've met, we can sit down to a nice dinner. In fact, let's get the families together. Next Friday? Do your fathers keep kosher? If so, we can do kosher. I'll tell you what, sweetheart, I'll call them tomorrow and set it all up!"

"Yes, I'm sure that would be...," Rachel manages to get out, but apparently no answer is required, because Mrs. Puckerman, _Leah_, pulls her into another quick hug before rolling on.

"Now Rachel, I'm so sorry but I have to run out to bring Sarah to a sleepover. You can run right upstairs to Noah's room. Second door on the left."

(Actually, Rachel's been there before, but she's not _about_ to mention it.)

Mrs. Puckerman pauses, looks at Rachel thoughtfully. "You could do one other thing for me, dear. Please let Noah know that I have several errands to run. Shopping, the dry cleaning..."

_Dry cleaning on a Saturday night?_

"...a number of things. I don't expect to be back until 10 or 10:30. In fact, I'll probably give him a call when I'm on my way home." Pulling Sarah out the door, she smiles again and Rachel smiles back weakly because it seems quite possible, (and granted she doesn't always read people correctly, but here it seems _embarrassingly_ clear), that she's being sent upstairs to defile Mrs. Puckerman's little boy. Or something like that.

She briefly considers chasing the woman down the walkway to assure her that _Rachel Berry_ is not that kind of girl. Only after last night, Noah's hands, his mouth, and god, she's _dying_ to do it all again, she _is_ a little.

_Just butterflies_, she tells herself as she walks up the stairs. The door's open a crack, so she knocks twice and when there's no response, she takes a deep breath and pushes the door completely open.

He's asleep when she goes in, stretched out along his bed, totally relaxed, eyelashes a smudge along his face, his mouth a gentle curve. She steps closer, then hesitates, crumpling the hem of her skirt in her fist before catching herself and smoothing it down. Her eyes drift downward to where his shirt has ridden up and almost unconsciously she tracks the line of hair from his belly button to where it disappears at the top of his jeans. Something curls low in her belly and she has a sudden urge to trace it with her tongue. Blushing, she forces her eyes back upwards only to find him blinking sleepily at her.

He reaches for her, eyes still half closed. She lets him pull her close, until she has one knee on the bed, his hand on the curve of her hip.

"You're here," he says, his voice rusty with sleep, "wait, do you have shoes on?"

"What?" she asks, looking down at her feet. Strappy sandals, very cute. _Huh?_

He shakes his head, grips tighter. "Never mind, just a dream."

"About shoes?" Her brow knits in confusion.

"About you," he says, watching his hand with careful concentration as it slides from her hip to dip under her blouse, fingers brushing her skin, and something about, his words or his touch or all of it makes her lose her head completely.

"I missed you," she says with a hitch in her voice, feeling the heat of his hand on her rib-cage, moving higher, his thumb tracing the lacy side of her bra and her eyes flutter shut.

(Naturally, it does almost nothing to curb her loquacity.)

"_Noah._ After you left this morning, I mean and certainly I knew that you'd have to go at some point, but it was very sudden and then I was thinking of you while I was packing-well _day-dreaming_ might be a better description, and again on the drive back and..."

And then she's not saying anything because he lets out a noise something like a growl (only it doesn't sound angry _at all, _she_ likes_ it) and he yanks her down of top of him. His other hand, the one not moving to her ass, twists in her hair and carefully tugs her hair back so his lips can find her mouth, her face, her neck.

"Fuck, Rachel, _fuck_..." he groans out as he nuzzles her, nipping at her ear.

_Is that a request?_ She'd clear away a little space in her head to think about that, but he's already gripping her forearms, pushing her up and away gently, sucking in a sharp breath as she balances on his hips, straddling him.

"_Babe...baby_," he hisses, "wait, wait a minute." His hands tighten and she lets out a squeak. "_Shit_, sorry!" He rubs her arms and then loosely clasps his fingers around her wrists. "Rach, fuck, we should probably...I really wanna...but hell, my mother and sister are downstairs and that introduction is going to be complicated enough as it is, so..."

She frowns a little, "Do you think your mother isn't going to like me, because I should tell you..."

His eyes widen, "What? No, babe, that's _definitely_ not it."

"And you do realize that I've already met your mother, don't you? How do you think I got in here?" She follows his gaze to the window. "The _window_, Noah? What kind of dream did you have?"

_Is he blushing? And twitching against her inner thigh?_ She hops off and settles on the bed next to him, smoothing down her skirt against her legs. (She can pursue that line of questioning later.)

When she chances a look back at him, he seems to have recovered his sangfroid. He's leaning back with his hands under his head and what can only be described as a smirk on his face. "So you met Mama P.? I was going to run interference for you against all that crazy, but then again you can probably hold your own."

Really? He wants to play? Because she can play.

Sweetly. "Oh Noah, that reminds me! Your mother did ask me to let you know that she would be out for a few hours. Something about meeting with Rabbi Wiseman? She seemed quite enthusiastic about it."

He pales and sits up and she takes pity on him almost immediately.

"I'm sorry Noah, I couldn't help myself. Rabbi Wiseman didn't come up at all. She is out though, and will be for quite some time. She mentioned errands, and dry-cleaning and the like. She'll call you."

"She's going _where_?"

When she repeats herself, he rubs a hand along the back of his head and mutters "That woman. Errands my ass. You realize that she's basically giving us permission to screw around?"

"I did suspect that might be true," she says, trying to keep her composure, her lips curling up at the corners despite herself.

"You think it's funny now, wait a few weeks until she actually _is_ trying to plan our wedding."

"I'm sure it won't come to that."

He makes a face at her and she laughs and turns her face up towards him and he kisses her briefly and then stands, pulling her to her feet behind him. Grabbing his keys off the desk, he grins. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Hold on Noah, are we going to the golf course again? Because there's a little bit of a chill in the air tonight."

"Baby, I've got other places to take my girl."

"The parking lot of the 7-11? Oooh, actually I've been craving a slushie!"

"Hell, no. Someplace quiet. I've got three fucking weeks without you to make up for. Or, you know, two weeks and six days." He looks around his room. "Besides, we can't stay here. Permission? Shit's off-putting."

He stops off to buy her a slushie anyway, smiling at her when he hands her the straw tucked over his ear.

They park in the darkest corner of the McKinley parking lot and he leads her to the padlocked gate to the bleachers. Somehow, she's not surprised when one of the keys on his chain opens the lock.

They sit by side, his arm around her her hand on his knee, not saying anything, and it _is_ quiet, almost dreamlike, the only light coming from a solitary streetlight.

"You know, bringing you here, this is meant to be symbolic and shit," he says finally, awkwardly.

Her heart dips and she flashes a look up at him, but he's staring out onto the field. "Symbolic?" she asks, "Noah, we _broke up_ here."

He hauls her in a little closer to his side. "No. _Fuck._ I mean after everything exploded-Quinn and Finn and the baby. You came and found me out here. _Everyone_ fucking hated me. I hated _myself_. And then for whatever reason, there was you, every Tuesday and Thursday with your twinkies."

"I wanted to be your friend," she whispers.

He laughs. "Yeah, no matter what I had to say about it. You just care about everyone and you're stubborn as fuck and you never give up and I really like that about you." He pauses, links their fingers together and says carefully, "Actually, I _love_ that about you."

It's easy. It's so so so simple to smile at him and say it back and the words taste sweet on her lips and then on his when she says it on his mouth and he seems to like it so she says it a few more times until she can't say anything at all.

There's something sweet in that as well, and they take their time with each other, tongues gentle, sharing breaths, before finally pulling away.

She sighs happily looking around at the empty bleachers. "This absolutely trumps our break-up in terms of unforgettable moments associated with this place."

"I wasn't going to break up with you, anyway," he shrugs.

"I knew it!" she jumps up and squeals. "Even if I wouldn't let you touch my breasts."

"Yeah, well you made up for _that _later." He wraps his arms around her, one hand sliding to her backside. "Anyway, if I remember right, I did get a nice handful of your ass that afternoon. Fucking perfect."

She glares.

"What? No seriously, you've got no fucking clue. You only get to see it all twisted around and backwards in the mirror. Probably looks a little strange from that angle."

"I'll have you know that I've seen my a...my bottom frequently. I tape all my performances to see how I can improve and naturally my posture, my carriage is an important component, so..."

"Whatever." He pulls her back down next to him, tugs her in to his side again, exactly where she wants to be and she leans into him. "My point it that it's pretty fucking lovable close up."

"You love me," she says softly.

"Oh baby, you have _no_ fucking idea."

* * *

**_END_**


End file.
